Emerald Crystals
by Neko Rose-22
Summary: Spencer has a new challenge. To find The Book of Ra before it's to late. Follow his adventure through the new sequel to Drops Of Emerald. I only own Spencer and my idea for this series.
1. Chapter 1

**Emerald Crystals**

**Author's Note:**

Wow it already is 2015, and the second book of the _**Elemental Remix**_ of the _Kane Chronicles_ has been started. I'd love to thank all of my readers throughout 2014 as I had at least 2.2k+ readers in a little under the time six months as I started writing in late June. To all those who have followed, favorite-d, and commented on _Drops Of Emeralds_, here is the sequel: _Emerald Crystals_. I'd like to thank all my comment-ers: _Rose-chan (Guest), ObeliskX, Rozie Lynn (Guest), Nyan Cat (Guest), medolia1, Medolia_, and _bandcrazy01_.

On the topic of the first book, I have lost my Beta, due to not setting a limit on how many words per chapter, and I have set my Maximum word range from 5k-6k words. Though my beta did say that they wanted more time with their own story so that makes sense to me, so on the note I am free for a new Beta, so if you'd like to Beta this story, just PM me. Oh yeah, _The Throne of Fire_ only has 24 chapters so I plan to do 2 chapters for each update,-both-of-these-chapters-in-this-update-were-originally-in-Carter's-Pov-So-I-Re-wrote-them-into-Spencer's-PoV.

**Disclaimer:**

I only own Spencer, Ethan, Luke and the idea for this series.

**Chapter 1**

_**(1. Fun with Spontaneous Combustion- Translated into Spencer's PoV)**_

Hi, it's Spencer here. My brother is explaining about what has happened since last Christmas where we lost our dad, due to him summoning Osiris and since the demon days and Set has been contained… I need to start over, you might not have listened to the first recording Carter and I put out, but let me explain something here: Egyptian gods and goddesses are running loose around the modern world; a group of magicians called the House of Life is trying to stop them; everyone seems to hate Carter and I; and a big snake is about to swallow the sun and destroy the world. I then proceeded to punch my older brother for being well, let's just say an annoyance. I know I should stop and try not to scare you with all this information and all, but you should be scared. I should let you choose what to believe is right and understand how Brooklyn when up in flames.

-X-

The task was supposed to be simple: sneak into the Brooklyn Museum, borrow a certain Egyptian artifact and get out without getting caught, we would have returned the artifact soon or later, probably the latter of the two, then again four kids in black ninja clothing did look suspicious, especially if you put Khufu our baboon who was also wearing ninja garb, trying to blend in with his golden fur, _definitely suspicious_. The first thing we did was send our trainees Jaz and Walt to open the side window, while Carter, Khufu and I examined the big glass dome that was supposed to be our exit strategy, well it wasn't looking too good. It was well after dark and the museum was supposed to be closed, but instead the dome was glowing with light. Down below us hundreds of people where tuxidoes and evening gowns mingled and danced in a ballroom the size of an airplane hangar.

Unlike my brother, I wasn't freezing in my linen pajamas, with my specialty combt boots that never leave my sight. I was undoing the locks on the dome humming to a song from "_The Wall_" CD by: _Pink Floyd_ on my iPod. My red highlight matched my mood very well. I was thankful my older brother and I didn't look alike, because I did want the option of denying he is my history crazy older brother. I saw my brother say something so I pulled out my earbuds to hear him.

"You said the museum was empty." He complained as he repeated what he said before.

"I thought it was _supposed_ to be empty," I replied, I was agitated that I was starting to lose my British accent and I would never admit that to Carter. "The Website said it was supposed to be closed and mention nothing of the wedding being held tonight on it!"

He looked down and observed the scenery over again, he must have spotted the ugly peach colored bridesmaid dresses by now, or the humongous cake. Khufu rapped his baboon hand on the glass, even with the black clothes, it was hard for him to blend into the shadows with his golden fur, and not to mention his rainbow-colored nose and rear-end. He grunted out a suggestion on how to blend in at the wedding.

"Khufu's right, we'll have a hard enough time sneaking out thought the party, so perhaps if we pretended to be a maintenance crew—"

"Yeah right." He replied smartly. "'Excuse us. Four kids coming through with a three-ton statue. Just going to float it through this here roof. Don't mind us'"

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my wand—a curved length of ivory carved with pictures of monster and I pointed it towards the dome. A golden hieroglyph blazed, and the last padlock popped open.

"Well, if we aren't going to use this as an exit, then why am I opening it? Couldn't we just come out the same way we came in?" I asked

Carter shook his head. "No I told you, it is too big to fit through that window. Plus the traps—"

"Couldn't we just try again tomorrow?" I asked

He shook his head again. "Tomorrow the whole exhibit is getting boxed up and shipped off on tour."

I raised my eyebrows in annoyance, "Perhaps if someone had given me more _notice_ that we would have need to steal this statue—"

"Forget it." He cut me off as if knowing this arguing on the roof would get us nowhere. It was a few moments of silence before I decided that it was safe to speak again.

"So let's just stick the plan. Go through the side window, find the statue, and float it out through the ballroom. We'll figure out what to do with the wedding party when we get to that, maybe create a diversion."

Carter frowned. "A diversion?"

"Carter, brother dear, you simply worry too much." I replied. "Unless, perhaps you have another idea?" I bet Carter didn't have a clue for another idea. I could tell that he was babbling in his head for a long time before I popped up again and asked the imposing idea and push on and don't hope for errors to occur.

"Yeah, I guess so then." He replied glumly.

"Bloody lovely," I replied. "Khufu, I want you to watch to stay here and keep watch, okay? Open the dome when you see us come up, okay?"

Khufu nodded his head. "_Agh!_"

I could tell that Carter wasn't comfortable with what was about to go down.

"Come on," Carter pulled my hand. "Let's go see how Jaz and Walt are doing."

He pulled me to the ledge outside the 3rd floor, which housed the Egyptian collection. Jaz and Walt had done their work perfectly, they had duct taped the Sons of Horus statues around the edges of the window and painted hieroglyphs around the edges of the glass to counteract the mortal security system. As Carter and I landed near them, they seemed to be in somewhat of a serious conversation and Jaz, was holding Walt's hands making me squirm in my thoughts, [Thought I will NEVER admit to Carter!] Why would I even care? Okay a little after New Year's, when Carter and I sent out our _djed_ amulet beacon to attract kids with magic potential to our house, they had been the first respond and arrived at house headquarters. They'd been training with us for over 7 weeks, longer than anyone else, so we'd gotten to know them pretty well.

Jaz was a cheerleader from Nashville, her name was short for Jasmine, but don't EVER call her that unless you want to get turned into a shrub. She was pretty in a blonde cheerleader sort of way—but not really my type—but you couldn't help but like her, none the less. She had a talent for healing magic, too; so she was great to have around when you got in trouble, which was us 99.9% of the time for us. Tonight, she was wearing a black bandanna, tied up her hair; she had her magician's bag slung over her shoulder, which had the symbol of the lion goddess. She was just telling Walt that_ we'd figure it out_ when Carter and I dropped down next to them, and Walt was looking embarrassed about what Jaz had said.

Walt, how to explain him without getting a nosebleed? Let's see, he's the same age as Carter, tall enough to play varsity. Who knew hanging around my brother would cause me to learn stuff I hadn't known before? His skin tone was a little darker than Carter's, his hair was buzz cut, so it was really short. He was wearing a black sleeveless tee and workout shorts, apparently his magic wasn't affected by it, and we didn't argue since he was a natural _sau_—a charm maker. So a bunch of gold neck chains with magic amulets hung around his neck. Once Walt had noticed that we'd interrupted their conversation, Walt let go of Jaz's hands real quickly and backed away from her. I could feel my eyes watch both of them, trying to figure out what was going on between the two of them.

Walt then stated the window was ready, trying to break the awkward silence. I calmly thanked Walt and asked what they'd meant by: _we'd figure it out_. Jaz looked as if she was a fish out of water, which Walt quickly butted in saying that it was The Book of Ra, which Jaz had then reacted saying it was The Book of Ra. I could really tell they were lying, but I let it slide. Carter butted in before I could strike up a new conversation.

"Okay, let's go and begin this fun." Carter spoke up opening the window, no magical explosions or alarms.

We entered the Egyptian wing with ease and I let out a long slow sigh of relief. As we made it through the first room, passing through the Egyptian-styled Zodiac mural on the ceiling; I could hear the celebration going on in the grand ballroom down the hallway to our right. Music and laughter echoed through the building. In the second Egyptian room, we stopped in front of a stone frieze the size of a garage door and chiseled into the rock was a picture of a monster trampling some humans. Jaz then asked if the monster was a griffin and Carter replied that it was the Egyptian version.

The animal had a lion's body and the head of a falcon, but its wings weren't like your ordinary griffin pictures. Instead of having bird wings, the monster's wings ran across the top of its back—Long, horizontal, and bristly like a pair of upside-down steel brushes, If the monster could've flown at all, they would've moved like a butterfly's, I suspected. Carter then spoke out that Griffins were protectors and they guarded treasures and stuff.

"So you mean that they attack for example: _thieves_, breaking into museums and stealing artifacts?" I asked.

"It's just a frieze." Carter replied, which wasn't really helping.

"There." Walt pointed towards a point across the room. "That's it, correct?'

We all made a wide arc while walking around the griffin and walked towards the 8 foot statue in the middle of the room, the god was carved from black stone and dressed in typical Egyptian style: Bare-chested, with a kilt and sandals, he had the face of a ram and horns that had partially broken off over time. On his head was a Frisbee-shaped crown—a sun disk, braided with serpents. I squinted toward the hieroglyphs inscription trying to read what it said.

"KNM" I read. "I suppose that would be pronounced _Khnum_, it rhymes with _ka-boom_?"

Carter nodded trying to figure out how it would help us find The Book of Ra. Walt asked about the child in front of the god, which Jaz had answered that _Khnum_ had been the god that made humans out of clay, she then looked at Carter to double-check if she was right. Carter seemed off when he answered her. I made a joke of the god being the God of Moose, since he reminded me of Bullwinkle. Carter then corrected me telling me it wasn't the god of moose. He then explained that Khnum was one of the aspects of Ra.

Jaz looked totally confused even after Carter explained it and I gave a furthered example, which Carter then promptly told me to shut up. Walt then asked why we needed The Book of Ra so badly, which Carter hesitated. After Carter and Walt discussed the Scarab, I got an idea and tapped the god's amulet which opened into four parts and a little yellow papyrus scroll was sticking out.

"_Voilà_." I exclaimed proudly and pulled the scroll out of the amulet.

The scroll must have been booby-trapped, because as soon as I pulled it out, cracked appeared on the walls and a fire began burning a ghostly white flame appeared and when I tried to shake it out it just spread to a display case nearby and oh crap when it reached the Griffin at the entrance, you could hear a blood-curling scream from the beast and I knew what my brother was thinking: _Spencer found the diversion._

"Get it off!" I screamed the scroll was stuck to my hand.

_**(2. We Tame a Seven-Thousand pound Hummingbird)**_

Since we had given up our merge with the gods it made it harder to do normal stuff, much less protect ourselves from the monster that the scroll had awoken. The griffin was twice the size of a regular lion; the reddish-gold fur coated with limestone dust, its tail was studded with spiky feathers; that looked hard and sharp as daggers. With a single flick, it pulverized the stone slab it had been encased in, its bristly wings were now straight up on its back and when the griffin move they fluttered so fast, they blurred and buzzed like wings of the world's largest, most vicious hummingbird. The griffin fixed its hunger eyes upon me, the white flames were still engulfing my hand and the scroll, and the griffin seemed to take it as a challenge. I had heard a lot of my brother's falcon cries when he was a falcon—but when this monster opened its mouth and let out a glass rattling screech.

"Spencer, drop the scroll, NOW!" Carter said.

"Hello? It's stuck to my hand!" I protested. "And did I mention, I'M ON FIRE!"

Some of the patches of the ghost fire were now burning across all the windows and artifacts now the scroll seemed to have triggered every single reservoir of Egyptian magic it could find, and I was pretty sure that was bad. Walt and Jaz stood frozen in shock, then again this was their first monster. The griffin took a step towards me. Carter was standing next to me and pulled out his weapon an Egyptian _khopesh_, a sharp, hook shaped-blade. I must've looked like the Statue of Liberty to my brother with my hand in flames, but I managed to summon my staff covered with hieroglyphs. I then asked Carter if he had any hints on fighting griffins and he had responded by telling me to avoid the sharp points. Not much help, brother dear.

"Bloody brilliant, dear brother." I replied.

"Walt," Carter called. "Check the windows and see if you can open any of them.

"B-but they're cursed." Walt replied

"Yes, and if we try to exit through the ballroom, the griffin will eat us before we get there."

"I'll check the windows then."

"Jaz, help Walt."

"The markings on the windows," Jaz muttered. "I—I've seen them before—"

"Just help him!"

The griffin proceeded to lung, its wings buzzing like chain saws. I through my staff and it turned into a tiger mid-air, slamming into the griffin with its claws unsheathed, but the griffin wasn't impressed and knocked the tiger aside, then it lashed out at an unnatural speed, opening its beak impossibly wide and snapped my staff. The griffin gulped and burped, and the tiger was gone.

"That was my favorite staff!" I cried.

The griffin then turned its eyes toward Carter, he gripped his sword tightly and it began to glow. "Walt!" He yelled. "How's the window coming?"

"Trying it now," Walt replied.

"H-hold on," Jaz said nervously. "Those are the Symbols of Sekhmet. Walt, stop now!"

Then a lot of things happened at once, Walt opened the window and got blasted with a roar of a white flame, knock him to the floor, and Jaz ran to his side. The griffin lost interest in Carter and paid attention to the moving target—Jaz—and proceeded to lung at her.

Carter charged after it, but instead of snapping up our friends, the griffin soared straight over Walt and Jaz and slammed into the window. Jaz pulled Walt out of the way while the griffin went crazy, thrashing and biting at the white flames. It was trying to _attack _the fire. The griffin snapped at the air. It spun, knocking over a display case of _shabti. _Its tail smashed a sarcophagus to pieces.

I'm not sure what possessed me, but Carter yelled, "Stop it!"

The griffin froze. It turned toward him, cawing in irritation. A curtain of white fire raced away and burned in the corner of the room, almost like it was regrouping. Then carter noticed other fires coming together, forming burning shapes that were vaguely human. One looked right at him, and Carter sensed an unmistakable aura of malice.

"Carter, keep its attention." I said as I hadn't noticed the fiery shapes, my eyes were still fixed on the griffin as she pulled a length of magic twine from her pocket. "If I can just get close enough—"

"Spencer, wait." I tried to process what was going on. Walt was flat on his back, shivering. His eyes were glowing white, as if the fire had gotten inside him. Jaz knelt over him, muttering a healing spell.

"_RAAAWK!" _The griffin croaked plaintively as if asking permission—as if it was _obeying _my order to stop, but didn't like it.

The fiery shapes were getting brighter, more solid. I counted seven blazing figures, slowly forming legs and arms. _Seven figures…_Jaz had said something about the symbols of Sekhmet. Dread settled over me as I realized what kind of curse was really protecting the museum. The griffin's release had just been accidental. It wasn't the real problem.

I threw my twine.

"Wait!" Carter yelled, but it was too late. The magic twine whipped through the air, elongating into a rope as it raced toward the griffin.

The griffin squawked indignantly and leaped after the fiery shapes. The fire creatures scattered, and a game of total annihilation tag was on. The griffin buzzed around the room, its wings humming. Display cases shattered. Mortal alarms blared. I yelled at the griffin to stop, but this time it did no good.

Out of the corner of Carter's eye, he saw Jaz collapse, maybe from the strain of her healing spell. "Spencer!" Carter yelled. "Help her!"

I ran to Jaz's side and Carter chased the griffin; he looked like a total fool in his black pajamas with his glowing sword, tripping over broken artifacts and screaming orders at a giant hummingbird-cat.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, half a dozen party guests came around the corner to see what the noise was about. Their mouths fell open. A lady in a peach-colored dress screamed. The seven white fire creatures shot straight through the wedding guests, who instantly collapsed. The fires kept going, whipping around the corner toward the ballroom. The griffin flew after them.

Carter glanced back at me, who was kneeling over Jaz and Walt. "How are they?"

"Walt is coming around," I said, "but Jaz is out cold."

"Follow me when you can. I think I can control the griffin."

"Carter, are you _mad_? Our friends are hurt and I've got a flaming scroll stuck to my hand. The windows open. Help me get Jaz and Walt out of here!"

I had a point. This might be our only chance to get our friends out alive. But I also knew what those seven fires were now, and I knew that if I didn't go after them, a lot of innocent people were going to get hurt.

Carter muttered an Egyptian curse—the cussing kind, not the magic kind—and he ran to join the wedding party. The main ballroom was in chaos. Guests were running everywhere, screaming and knocking over tables. A guy in a tuxedo had fallen into the wedding cake and was crawling around with a plastic bride-and-groom decoration stuck to his rear. A musician was trying to run away with a snare drum on his foot. The white fires had solidified enough so that he could make out their forms—somewhere between canine and human, with elongated arms and crooked legs. They glowed like superheated gas as they raced through the ballroom, circling the pillars that surrounded the dance floor. One passed straight through a bridesmaid. The lady's eyes turned milky white, and she crumpled to the floor, shivering and coughing. Suddenly the griffin swooped down out of nowhere, followed closely by my magic rope, which was still trying to bind it. The griffin snapped up one of the fire creatures in a single gulp and kept flying. Wisps of smoke came out of its nostrils, but otherwise, eating the white fire didn't seem to bother it.

"Hey!" Carter yelled.

The griffin turned toward him, which slowed it down just enough for my magic rope to wrap around its back legs.

"_SQUAWWWWK!" _The griffin crashed into a buffet table. The rope grew longer, winding around the monster's body while its high-speed wings shredded the table, the floor, and plates of sandwiches like an out-of-control wood chipper.

Wedding guests began clearing the ballroom. Most ran for the elevators, but dozens were unconscious or shaking in fits, their eyes glowing white. Others were stuck under piles of debris. Alarms were blaring, and the white fires—six of them now—were still completely out of control.

Carter ran toward the griffin, which was rolling around, trying in vain to bite at the rope. "Calm down!" He yelled. "Let me help you, stupid!"

"_FREEEEK!" _The griffin's tail swept over my head and just missed decapitating him.

The griffin stopped thrashing. The buzzing of its wings slowed. Chaos and screaming still filled the ballroom, but he tried to stay calm as he approached the monster.

"You recognize me, don't you?" Carter held out his hand, and another symbol blazed above his palm—a symbol he could always summon, the Eye of Horus. "You're a sacred animal of Horus, aren't you? That's why you obey me."

The griffin blinked at the war god's mark. It ruffled its neck feathers and squawked in complaint, squirming under the rope that was slowly wrapping around its body.

"Yeah, I know," He said. "My brother's a loser. Just hang on. I'll untie you."

Somewhere behind Carter, I yelled, "Carter!"

Carter turned and saw Walt and I stumbling toward me, half-carrying Jaz between them. I was still doing my Statue of Liberty impression, holding the flaming scroll in one hand. Walt was on his feet and his eyes weren't glowing anymore, but Jaz was slumped over like all the bones in her body had turned to jelly. They dodged a fiery spirit and a few crazy wedding guests and somehow made it across the ballroom.

Walt stared the griffin. "How did you calm it down?"

"Griffins are servants of Horus," I said. "They pulled his chariot in battle. I think it recognized my connection to him."

The griffin shrieked impatiently and thrashed its tail, knocking over a stone column.

"Not very calm," I noticed and glanced up at the glass dome, forty feet above, where the tiny figure of Khufu was waving at us frantically. "We need to get Jaz out of here _now,_" I said.

"I'm fine," Jaz muttered.

"No, you're not," Walt said. "Carter, she got that spirit out of me, but it almost killed her. It's some kind of sickness demon—"

"A_bau,_" I said. "An evil spirit. These seven are called—"

"The Arrows of Sekhmet," Jaz said, confirming my fears. "They're plague spirits, born from the goddess. I can stop them."

"You can _rest,_" I said.

"Right," Carter said. "Spencer, get this rope off the griffin and—"

"There's no time." Jaz pointed. The _bau _were getting larger and brighter. More wedding guests were falling as the spirits whipped around the room unchallenged.

"They'll die if I don't stop the _bau,_" Jaz said. "I can channel the power of Sekhmet and force them back to the Duat. It's what I've been training for."

Carter hesitated and I knew Jaz had never tried such a large spell. She was already weak from healing Walt, but she _was _trained for this. It might seem strange that healers studied the path of Sekhmet, but since Sekhmet was the goddess of destruction, plagues, and famine, it made sense that healers would learn how to control her forces—including _bau._

Besides, even if I freed the griffin, I wasn't one hundred percent sure I could control it. There was a decent chance it would get excited and gobble us up rather than the spirits. Outside, police sirens were getting louder. We were running out of time.

"We've got no choice," Jaz insisted. She pulled her wand and then—much to my shock—gave Walt a kiss on the cheek. "It'll be okay, Walt. Don't give up." Jaz took something else from her magician's bag—a wax figurine—and pressed it into my free hand. "You'll need this soon, Spencer. I'm sorry I can't help you more. You'll know what to do when the time comes."

Jaz ran to the center of the ballroom and touched her wand to the floor, drawing a circle of protection around her feet. From her bag she produced a small statue of Sekhmet, her patron goddess, and held it aloft. She began to chant. Red light glowed around her. Tendrils of energy spread out from the circle, filling the room like the branches of a tree. The tendrils began to swirl, slowly at first, then picking up speed until the magic current tugged at the _bau, _forcing them to fly in the same direction, drawing them toward the center. The spirits howled, trying to fight the spell. Jaz staggered, but she kept chanting, her face beaded with sweat.

"Can't we help her?" Walt asked.

"_RAWWWWK!" _the griffin cried, which probably meant, _Helloooo! I'm still here!_

The sirens sounded like they were right outside the building now. Down the hall near the elevators, someone was shouting into a megaphone, ordering the last wave of wedding guests to exit the building—like they needed encouragement. The police had arrived, and if we got arrested, this situation was going to be difficult to explain.

"Spencer," Carter said, "get ready to dispel the rope on the griffin. Walt, you still got your boat amulet?"

"My—? Yeah. But there's no water."

"Just summon the boat!" Carter then dug through his pockets and found his own magic twine. He spoke a charm and was suddenly holding a rope about twenty feet long and he made a loose slipknot in the middle, like a huge necktie, and carefully approached the griffin. "I'm just going to put this around your neck," He said. "Don't freak."

"_FREEEEK!" _the griffin said.

Carter stepped closer, conscious of how fast that beak could snap him up if it wanted to, but he managed to loop the rope around the griffin's neck.

Then something went wrong. Time slowed down. The red swirling tendrils of Jaz's spell moved sluggishly, like the air had turned to syrup. The screams and sirens faded to a distant roar.

_You won't succeed, _a voice hissed.

Carter turned and found himself face-to-face with a _bau. _It hovered in the air a few inches away, its fiery white features almost coming into focus and it seemedto smile. _Chaos is too powerful, boy, _it said. _The world spins beyond your control. Give up your quest!_

"Shut up," He murmured, but his heart was pounding.

_You'll never find her, _the spirit taunted. _She sleeps in the Place of Red Sand, but she will die there if you follow your pointless quest._

"No," He said. "You're a demon, a deceiver."

_You know better, boy. We've met before._

"Shut up!" Carter summoned the Eye of Horus, and the spirit hissed. Time sped up again. The red tendrils of Jaz's spell wrapped around the _bau _and pulled it screaming into the vortex. No one else seemed to have noticed what just happened.

I was playing defense, swatting at _bau _with my flaming scroll whenever they got close. Walt set his boat amulet on the ground and spoke the command word. In a matter of seconds, like one of those crazy expand-in-water sponge toys, the amulet grew into a full-size Egyptian reed boat, lying across the ruins of the buffet table. With shaking hands, Carter took the two ends of the griffin's new necktie and tied one end to the boat's prow and one to the stern.

"Carter, look!" I called.

Carter turned in time to see a flash of blinding red light. The entire vortex collapsed inward, sucking all six _bau _into Jaz's circle. The light died. Jaz fainted, her wand and the Sekhmet statue both crumbling to dust in her hands. We ran to her. Her clothes were steaming. I couldn't tell if she was breathing.

"Get her into the boat," Carter said. "We have to get out of here."

I heard a tiny grunt from far above. Khufu had opened the dome. He gestured urgently as searchlights swept the sky above him. The museum was probably surrounded by emergency vehicles. All around the ballroom, afflicted guests were starting to regain consciousness. Jaz had saved them, but at what cost? We carried her to the boat and climbed in.

"Hold on tight," Carter warned. "This thing is _not _balanced. If it flips—"

"Hey!" a deep male voice yelled behind us. "What are you—Hey! Stop!"

"Spencer, rope, now!" Carter said.

I snapped her fingers, and the rope entangling the griffin dissolved.

"GO!" Carter shouted. "UP!"

"_FREEEEK!" _The griffin revved its wings. We lurched into the air, the boat rocking crazily, and shot straight for the open dome. The griffin barely seemed to notice our extra weight. It ascended so fast, Khufu had to make a flying leap to get on board. I pulled him into the boat, and we held on desperately, trying not to capsize.

"_Agh!" _Khufu complained.

"Yeah," Carter agreed. "So much for an easy job."

Then again, we were the Kane family. This was the easiest day we were going to have for quite a while. Somehow, our griffin knew the right way to go. He screamed in triumph and soared into the cold rainy night. As we flew toward home, my scroll burned brighter. When I looked down, ghostly white fires were blazing across every rooftop in Brooklyn. I began to wonder exactly what we'd stolen—if it was even the right object, or if it would make our problems worse. Either way, I had a feeling we'd finally pushed our luck too far.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

I'm very thankful for all of the reviews on chapter one. The one guest with her younger sister who put up the "Green Strawberry Elephants" and her older sister apologized and its fine with me.-This-chapter-covers-chapter:-**3**.

**Chapter 2**

_**(**__**3. The Ice Cream Man Plots Our Death)**_

It's really odd how easily you can forget that your hand is on fire. We arrived back at Brooklyn House, and everyone swarmed me because my hand was stuck to a flaming scroll. I told them that I was fine and they should take care of Jaz. Honestly, I appreciate a bit of attention now and then, but I was hardly the most interesting thing happening. We'd landed on the roof of the mansion, which itself is an odd attraction—a five-story limestone-and-steel cube, like a cross between an Egyptian temple and an art museum, perched atop an abandoned warehouse on the Brooklyn waterfront. Not to mention that the mansion shimmers with magic and is invisible to regular mortals. Below us, the whole of Brooklyn was on fire. My annoying magic scroll had painted a wide swath of ghostly flames over the borough as we'd flown from the museum. Nothing was actually burning, and the flames weren't hot; but we'd still caused quite a panic. Sirens wailed. People clogged the streets, gawking up at the blazing rooftops. Helicopters circled with searchlights. If that wasn't exciting enough, my brother was wrangling a griffin, trying to untie a fishing boat from around its neck and keep the beast from eating our trainees.

Then there was Jaz, our real cause for concern; we'd determined she was still breathing, but she seemed to be in some sort of coma. When we opened her eyes, they were glowing white—typically _not _a good sign. During the boat ride, Khufu had attempted some of his famous baboon magic on her—patting her forehead, making rude noises, and trying to insert jelly beans into her mouth. I'm sure he thought he was being helpful, but it hadn't done much to improve her condition. Now Walt was taking care of her, he picked her up gently and put her on a stretcher, covering her with blankets and stroking her hair as our other trainees gathered round and that was fine… completely fine. I wasn't at all interested in how handsome his face looked in the moonlight, or his muscular arms in that sleeveless tee, or the fact that he'd been holding hands with Jaz, or… Sorry, I lost my train of thought.

I plopped down at the far corner of the roof, feeling absolutely knackered. My right hand itched from holding the papyrus scroll so long. The magic flames tickled my fingers. I felt around in my left pocket and brought out the little wax figure Jaz had given me. It was one of her healing statues, used to expel sickness or curses. Generally speaking, wax figures don't look like anyone in particular, but Jaz had taken her time with this one. It was clearly meant to heal one specific person, which meant it would have more power and would most likely be saved for a life-and-death situation. I recognized the figurine's curly hair, its facial features, the sword pressed into its hands. Jaz had even written its name in hieroglyphs on its chest: _CARTER._

_You'll need this soon, _she'd told me. As far as I knew, Jaz was not a diviner. She couldn't tell the future. So what had she meant? How was I supposed to I know when to use the figurine? Staring at the mini-Carter, I had a horrible feeling that my brother's life had been quite literally placed in my hands. A woman's voice quickly started me and I quickly put away the figurine. My old friend Bast stood over me. With her slight smile and glinting yellow eyes, she might've been concerned or amused. It's hard to tell with a cat goddess. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore her usual leopard-skin leotard, as if she were about to perform a back-flip. For all I knew, she might. As I said, you never can tell with cats. I waved the scroll around and Bast began to chant. I pondered how odd it was having my former pet cast a spell on me. For years, Bast had posed as my cat, Muffin. I hadn't even realized I had a goddess sleeping on my pillow at night. Then, after our dad unleashed a slew of gods at the British Museum, Bast had made herself known. She'd been watching over me for six years, she'd told us, ever since our parents released her from a cell in the Duat, where she'd been sent to fight the chaos snake Apophis forever.

Long story, but my mum had foreseen that Apophis would eventually escape his prison, which would basically amount to Doomsday. If Bast continued to fight him alone, she'd be destroyed. However, if Bast were freed, my mum believed she could play an important role in the coming battle with Chaos. So my parents freed her before Apophis could overwhelm her. My mother had died opening, then quickly closing, Apophis's prison; so naturally Bast felt indebted to our parents. Bast had become my guardian. Now she was also Carter and my chaperone, travel companion, and sometime personal chef (Hint: if she offers you the Friskies du Jour, say no).

But I still missed Muffin. At times I had to resist the urge to scratch Bast behind the ears and feed her crunchy treats, although I was glad she no longer tried to sleep on my pillow at night. That would've been a bit strange. She finished her chant, and the scroll's flames sputtered out. My hand unclenched. The papyrus dropped into my lap. I told her my thanks and told me that we couldn't have the power of Ra lighting up the city.

I looked out across the borough. The fires were gone. The Brooklyn night skyline was back to normal, except for the emergency lights and crowds of screaming mortals in the streets. Come to think of it, I suppose that _was _fairly normal: _The power of Ra?_ I asked. Bast's ponytail puffed up as it does when she's nervous. I'd come to realize she kept her hair in a ponytail so that her entire head wouldn't explode into a sea urchin shape each time she got startled. She then explained that the scroll is part of the book. She dropped her gaze and I realized how foolish my comment was. Ra was Bast's lord and master; eons ago, he'd chosen her to be his champion, but he was also the one who'd sent her into that prison to keep his archenemy Apophis occupied for eternity, so Ra could retire with a clear conscience and in my opinion it was quite selfish. Thanks to my parents, Bast had escaped her imprisonment; but that also meant she'd abandoned her post fighting Apophis. No wonder she had mixed feelings about seeing her old boss again.

She then told me it was best to continue this in the morning when the sun is up and the scroll would be easier to control. I stared at my lap. The papyrus was still steaming, she told me that it was safe to touch now and explained why it had reacted to being held and all.

I took the scroll. Thankfully, Bast was right. It didn't stick to my hand or light the city on fire. Bast helped me to my feet, and she told me to go get some sleep since you have a big day tomorrow. Right, I thought miserably. One person remembers, and it's my cat. I looked over at my brother, who was still trying to control the griffin. It had Carter's shoelaces in its beak and didn't seem inclined to let go. Most of our twenty trainees were surrounding Jaz, trying to wake her up. Walt hadn't left her side. He glanced up at me briefly, uneasily, then turned his attention back to Jaz. Since I wasn't needed I just headed back to my room.

My room was a lovely place to sulk. The last six years I'd lived in an attic in Gran and Gramps's flat in London, and although I missed my old life, my mates Luke and Ethan, and most everything about England, I couldn't deny that my room in Brooklyn was much more posh. My private balcony overlooked the East River. I had an enormous comfy bed, my own bathroom, and a walk-in closet with endless new outfits that magically appeared and cleaned themselves as needed. The chest of drawers featured a built-in refrigerator with my favorite Ribena drinks, imported from the UK, and chilled chocolates (well, a guy does have to treat himself). The sound system was absolutely bleeding edge, and the walls were magically soundproofed so I could play my music as loud as I wanted without worrying about my stick-in-the-mud brother next door. Sitting on the dresser was one of the only things I'd brought from my room in London: a beat-up cassette recorder my grandparents had given me ages ago. It was hopelessly old-fashioned, yes, but I kept it around for sentimental reasons. Carter and I had recorded our adventures at the Red Pyramid on it, after all.

I docked my iPod and scrolled through my playlists. I chose an older mix labeled sad, as that's how I felt. Adele's _19 _began playing. God, I hadn't heard that album since… Quite unexpectedly I began to tear up. I'd been listening to this mix on Christmas Eve when Dad and Carter picked me up for our trip to the British Museum—the night our lives changed forever. Adele sang as if someone were ripping her heart out. She went on about the boy she fancied, wondering what she must do to make him want her properly. I could relate to that. But last Christmas, the song had made me think of my family as well: my mum, who'd died when I was quite small, and my father and Carter, who traveled the world together, left me in London with my grandparents, and didn't seem to need me in their lives.

Of course I knew it was more complicated than that. There'd been a nasty custody battle involving lawyers and spatula attacks, and Dad had wanted to keep Carter and me apart so we didn't agitate each other's magic before we could handle the power. And yes, we'd all grown closer since then. My father was back in my life a bit more, even if he was the god of the underworld now. As for my mother…well, I'd met her ghost. I suppose that counted for something. Still, the music brought back all the pain and anger I'd felt at Christmas. I suppose I hadn't gotten rid of it as completely as I'd thought. My finger hovered over the fast-forward icon, but I decided to let the song play. I tossed my stuff on the dresser—the papyrus scroll, the wax mini-Carter, my magic bag, my wand. I reached for my staff, and then remembered I didn't have it anymore and that the griffin had eaten it and it was my fault really.

I started changing for bed. I'd plastered the inside of my closet door with photos, mostly of my mates and me from school last year. There was one of Luke, Ethan, and me making faces in a photo booth in Piccadilly; we looked so young and ridiculous. I couldn't believe I might be seeing them tomorrow for the first time in months. Gran and Gramps had invited me to visit, and I had plans to go out with just my mates—at least, that _had _been the plan before Carter dropped his "five-days-to-save-the-world" bombshell. Now, who knew what would happen? Only two non–Luke-and-Ethan pictures decorated my closet door. One showed Carter and me with Uncle Amos the day Amos left for Egypt on his…hmm, what do you call it when someone goes for healing after being possessed by an evil god? Not a holiday, I suppose. The last picture was a painting of Anubis. Perhaps you've seen him: the fellow with the jackal's head, god of funerals, death, and so on. He's everywhere in Egyptian art—leading deceased souls into the Hall of Judgment, kneeling at the cosmic scales, weighing a heart against the feather of truth.

Why did I have his picture? [Fine, Carter. I'll admit it, if only to shut you up.] I had a bit of a crush on Anubis. I know how ridiculous that sounds, a modern girl getting moony-eyed over a five-thousand-year-old dog-headed boy, but that's _not _what I saw when I looked at his picture. I remembered Anubis as he'd appeared in New Orleans when we'd met face-to-face—a boy of about sixteen, in black leather and denim, with tousled dark hair and gorgeous sad, melted-chocolate eyes. Very much _not _a dog-headed boy. Still ridiculous, I know. He was a god. We had absolutely nothing in common. I hadn't heard from him once since our adventure with the Red Pyramid, and that shouldn't have surprised me; even though he'd seemed interested in me at the time and possibly even dropped some hints….No, surely I'd been imagining it.

The past seven weeks, since Walt Stone had arrived at Brooklyn House, I'd thought I might be able to get over Anubis. Of course, Walt was my trainee, and I wasn't supposed to think of him as a possible boyfriend, but I was fairly sure there'd been a spark between us the first time we saw each other. Now, though, Walt seemed to be pulling away. He was acting so secretive, always looking so guilty and talking to Jaz. My life was rubbish. I pulled on my nightclothes while Adele kept singing. Were _all _her songs about not being noticed by boys? Suddenly I found that quite annoying. I turned off the music and flopped into bed. Sadly, once I fell asleep my night only got worse. At Brooklyn House, we sleep with all sorts of magic charms to protect us against malicious dreams, invading spirits, and the occasional urge our souls might get to wander off. I even have a magic pillow to make sure my soul—or _ba, _if you want to get Egyptian about it—stays anchored to my body.

It isn't a perfect system, though. Every so often I can sense some outside force tugging on my mind, trying to get my attention. Or my soul will let me know it has some other place to go, some important scene it needs to show me. I got one of those sensations immediately when I fell asleep. Think of it as an incoming call, with my brain giving me the option to accept or decline. Most of the time, it's best to decline, especially when my brain is reporting an unknown number, but sometimes those calls are important and my birthday _was _tomorrow. Perhaps Dad and Mum were trying to reach me from the underworld. I imagined them in the Hall of Judgment, my father sitting on his throne as the blue-skinned god Osiris, my mum in her ghostly white robes. They might be wearing paper party hats and singing "Happy Birthday" while Ammit the Devourer, their extremely tiny pet monster, jumped up and down, yapping.

Or it could be, just maybe, Anubis calling. _Hi, um, thought you might want to go to a funeral or something?_

Well…it was possible. So I accepted the call. I let my spirit go where it wanted to take me, and my _ba _floated above my body. If you've never tried _ba _travel, I wouldn't recommend it—unless of course you fancy turning into a phantom chicken and rafting uncontrollably through the currents of the Duat. The _ba _is usually invisible to others, which is good, as it takes the form of a giant bird with your normal head attached. Once upon a time, I'd been able to manipulate my _ba_'s form into something less embarrassing, but since Isis vacated my head, I didn't have that ability. Now when I lifted off, I was stuck in default poultry mode.

The doors of the balcony swung open. A magical breeze swept me into the night. The lights of New York blurred and faded, and I found myself in a familiar underground chamber: the Hall of Ages, in the House of Life's main headquarters under Cairo. The room was so long, it could've hosted a marathon. Down the middle was a blue carpet that glittered like a river. Between the columns on either side, curtains of light shimmered—holographic images from Egypt's long history. The light changed color to reflect different eras, from the white glow of the Age of the Gods all the way to the crimson light of modern times.

The roof was even higher than the ballroom at the Brooklyn Museum, the vast space lit by glowing orbs of energy and floating hieroglyphic symbols. It looked as if someone had detonated a few kilos of children's cereal in zero gravity, all the colorful sugary bits drifting and colliding in slow motion. I floated to the end of the room, just above the dais with the pharaoh's throne. It was an honorary seat, empty since the fall of Egypt, but on the step below it sat the Chief Lector, master of the First Nome, leader of the House of Life, and my least favorite magician: Michel Desjardins.

I hadn't seen Monsieur Delightful since our attack on the Red Pyramid, and I was surprised how much he'd aged. He'd only become Chief Lector a few months ago, but his slick black hair and forked beard were now streaked with gray. He leaned wearily on his staff, as if the Chief Lector's leopard-skin cape across his shoulders was as heavy as lead. I can't say I felt sorry for him. We hadn't parted as friends. We'd combined forces (more or less) to defeat the god Set, but he still considered us dangerous rogue magicians. He'd warned us that if we continued studying the path of the gods (which we had) he would destroy us the next time we met. That hadn't given us much incentive to invite him over for tea. His face was gaunt, but his eyes still glittered evilly. He studied the bloodred images in the curtains of light as if he were waiting for something.

"_Est-il allé?" _he asked, which my grammar school French led me to believe meant either "Is he gone?" or possibly "Have you repaired the island?"

Fine…it was probably the first one. For a moment I was afraid he was talking to me. Then from behind the throne, a raspy voice answered, "Yes, my lord."

A man stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed completely in white—suit, scarf, even white reflective sunglasses. My first thought was: _My god, he's an evil ice cream vendor._ He had a pleasant smile and chubby face framed in curly gray hair. I might've mistaken him as harmless, even friendly —until he took off his glasses. His eyes were ruined. I'll admit I'm squeamish about eyes. A video of retinal surgery? I'll run out of the room. Even the idea of contact lenses makes me cringe. But the man in white looked as if his eyes had been splashed with acid, then repeatedly clawed by cats. His eyelids were masses of scar tissue that didn't close properly. His eyebrows were burned away and raked with deep grooves. The skin above his cheekbones was a mask of red welts, and the eyes themselves were such a horrible combination of blood red and milky white that I couldn't believe he was able to see. He inhaled, wheezing so badly, the sound made my chest hurt. Glittering against his shirt was a silver pendant with a snake-shaped amulet.

"He used the portal moments ago, my lord," the man rasped. "Finally, he has gone."

That voice was as horrible as his eyes. If he _had _been splashed with acid, some of it must have gotten into his lungs. Yet the man kept smiling, looking calm and happy in his crisp white suit as if he couldn't wait to sell ice cream to the good little children. He approached Desjardins, who was still staring at the curtains of light. The ice cream man followed his gaze. I did the same and realized what the Chief Lector was looking at. At the last pillar, just next to the throne, the light was changing. The reddish tint of the modern age was darkening to a deep purple, the color of bruises. On my first visit to the Hall of Ages, I'd been told that the room grew longer as the years passed, and now I could actually see it happening. The floor and walls rippled like a mirage, expanding ever so slowly, and the sliver of purple light widened.

"Ah," said the ice cream man. "It's much clearer now."

"A new age," Desjardins murmured. "A darker age; the color of the light has not changed for a thousand years, Vladimir."

An evil ice cream man named Vladimir? All right, then. "It is the Kanes, of course," said Vladimir. "You should've killed the elder one while he was in our power."

My _ba _feathers ruffled. I realized he was talking about Uncle Amos. "No," Desjardins said. "He was under our protection. All who seek healing must be given sanctuary—even Kane."

Vladimir took a deep breath, which sounded like a clogged vacuum cleaner. "But surely now that he has left, we must act. You heard the news from Brooklyn, my lord. The children have found the first scroll. If they find the other two—"

"I know, Vladimir."

"They humiliated the House of Life in Arizona. They made peace with Set rather than destroy him. And now they seek the Book of Ra. If you would allow me to deal with them—"

The top of Desjardins' staff erupted in purple fire. "Who is Chief Lector?" he demanded.

Vladimir's pleasant expression faltered. "You are, my lord."

"And I will deal with the Kanes in due time, but Apophis is our greatest threat. We must divert all our power to keeping down the Serpent. If there is any chance the Kanes can help us restore order—"

"But, Chief Lector," Vladimir interrupted. His tone had a new intensity—an almost magical force to it. "The Kanes are part of the problem. They have upset the balance of Ma'at by awakening the gods. They are teaching forbidden magic. Now they would restore Ra, who has not ruled since the beginning of Egypt! They will throw the world into disarray. This will only help Chaos."

Desjardins blinked, as if confused. "Perhaps you're right. I…I must think on this."

Vladimir bowed. "As you wish, my lord; I will gather our forces and await your orders to destroy Brooklyn House."

"Destroy…" Desjardins frowned. "Yes, you will await my orders. I will choose the time to attack, Vladimir."

"Very good, my lord and if the Kane children seek the other two scrolls to awaken Ra? One is beyond their reach, of course, but the other—"

"I will leave that to you and guard it as you think best." Desjardins spoke and Vladimir's eyes were even more horrible when he got excited—slimy and glistening behind those ruined eyelids. They reminded me of Gramps's favorite breakfast: soft-boiled eggs with Tabasco sauce. [Well, I'm sorry if it's disgusting, Carter. You shouldn't try to eat while I'm narrating, anyway!] Vladimir simply responded that the children would seek the scroll, they have no choice and if they leave their stronghold, coming into my territory—He was promptly cut off by Desjardins telling him that we would dispose of them and to leave and let him think. Vladimir retreated into the shadows. For someone dressed in white, he managed to disappear quite well. Desjardins returned his attention to the shimmering curtain of light. _His voice broke a new age… An age of darkness…_

My _ba _swirled into the currents of the Duat, racing back to my sleeping form. A voice called me out of my sleep. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. Gray morning light filled the windows. Sitting at the foot of my bed was… Uncle Amos?

He smiled. "Happy birthday, my dear. I'm sorry if I scared you. You didn't answer your door. I was concerned."

He looked back to full health and as fashionably dressed as ever. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, a porkpie hat, and a black wool Italian suit that made him seem a bit less short and stout. His long hair was braided in cornrows decorated with pieces of glittering black stone—obsidian, perhaps. He might've passed for a jazz musician (which he was) or an African American Al Capone (which he wasn't). I started to ask, "How—?" Then my vision from the Hall of Ages—the implications of what I'd seen—sank in. It's all right; Uncle Amos responded and then told me that he'd just returned from Egypt. I tried to swallow, my breath almost as labored as that ghastly man Vladimir's. I then told him that I had as well and that it wasn't all right and that they were coming to destroy us.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

Due-to-character-numbers-I-had-to-do-the-dashes_**.-I-have-a-plan-to-write-a-One-Shot-out-of-the-extra-characters-for-Spencer**_.-This-Chapter-covers-Chapter-4.

_**(4. A Birthday Invitation to Armageddon)**_

After I explained my horrible vision, only one thing would do: a proper breakfast. Amos looked shaken, but he insisted we wait to discuss matters until we'd assembled the entire Twenty-first Nome (as our branch of the House of Life was called). He promised to meet me on the veranda in twenty minutes. After he'd gone, I showered and considered what to wear. Normally, I would teach Sympathetic Magic on Mondays, which would require proper magician's linen. However, my birthday was _supposed _to be a day off. Given the circumstances, I doubted Amos, Carter, and Bast would let me go to London, but I decided to think positive. I put on some ripped jeans, my combat boots, a tank top, and my leather jacket—not good for magic, but I was feeling rebellious.

I stuffed my wand and the mini-Carter figure into my magic supply bag. I was about to sling it over my shoulder when I thought—No, I'll not be lugging this about on my birthday. I took a deep breath and concentrated on opening a space in the Duat. I hate to admit it, but I'm _rubbish _at this trick. It's simply not fair that Carter can pull things out of thin air at a moment's notice, but I normally need five or ten minutes of absolute focus, and even then the effort makes me nauseous. Most of the time, it's simpler just to keep my bag over my shoulder. If I went out with my mates, however, I didn't want to be burdened with it, and I didn't want to leave it behind completely.

At last the air shimmered as the Duat bent to my will. I tossed my bag in front of me, and it disappeared. Excellent —assuming I could figure out how to get it back again later. I picked up the scroll we'd stolen from Bullwinkle the night before and headed downstairs. With everyone at breakfast, the mansion was strangely silent. Five levels of balconies faced the Great Room, so normally the place was bustling with noise and activity; but I remembered how empty it had felt when Carter and I first arrived last Christmas.

The Great Room still had many of the same touches: the massive statue of Thoth in the middle, Amos's collection of weapons and jazz instruments along the wall, the snakeskin rug in front of the garage-size fireplace. But you could tell that twenty young magicians lived here now as well. An assortment of remote controls, wands, iPads, snack food wrappers, and _shabti _figurines littered the coffee table. Someone with big feet—probably Julian—had left his muddy trainers on the stairs. And one of our hoodlums—I assumed Felix—had magically converted the fireplace into an Antarctic wonderland, complete with snow and a live penguin. Felix does love penguins. Magical mops and brooms sped about the house, trying to clean up. I had to duck to avoid getting dusted. For some reason, the dusters think my hair is a maintenance issue. [No comments from you, Carter.]

As I expected, everyone was gathered on the veranda, which served as our dining area and albino crocodile habitat. Philip of Macedonia splashed around happily in his pool, jumping for bacon strips whenever a trainee tossed him one. The morning was cold and rainy, but the fire in the terrace's magic braziers kept us toasty. I grabbed a _pain au chocolat _and a cup of tea from the buffet table and sat down. Then I realized the others weren't eating. They were staring at me. At the head of the table, Amos and Bast both looked grim. Across from me, Carter hadn't touched his plate of waffles, which was _very _unlike him. To my right, Jaz's chair was empty. (Amos had told me she was still in the infirmary, no change.) To my left sat Walt, looking quite good as usual, but I did my best to ignore him.

The other trainees seemed to be in various states of shock. They were a motley assortment of all ages from all over the world. A handful were older than Carter and me—old enough for university, in fact—which was nice for chaperoning the younger ones, but always made me feel a bit uncomfortable when I tried to act as their teacher. The others were mostly between ten and fifteen. Felix was just nine. There was Julian from Boston, Alyssa from Carolina, Sean from Dublin, and Cleo from Rio de Janeiro (yes, I know, Cleo from Rio, but I'm not making it up!). The thing we all had in common: the blood of the pharaohs. All of us were descended from Egypt's royal lines, which gave us a natural capacity for magic and hosting the power of the gods. The only one who didn't seem affected by the grim mood was Khufu. For reasons we never quite understood, our baboon eats only foods that end in _–o _and recently he had discovered Jell-O, which he regarded as a miracle substance. I suppose the capital _O _made everything taste better. Now he would eat almost anything encased in gelatin—fruit, nuts, bugs, small animals. At the moment he had his face buried in a quivering red mountain of breakfast and was making rude noises as he excavated for grapes. Everyone else watched me, as if waiting for an explanation.

"Morning," I muttered. "Lovely day; penguin in the fireplace, if anyone's interested."

"Spencer," Amos said gently, "tell everyone what you told me."

I sipped some tea to settle my nerves. Then I tried not to sound terrified as I described my visit to the Hall of Ages. When I was done, the only sounds were the fires crackling in the braziers and Philip of Macedonia splashing in his pool. Finally nine-year-old Felix asked what was on everyone's mind: _So we're all going to die, then?_

"No." Amos sat forward. "Absolutely not. Children, I know I've just arrived. I've hardly met most of you, but I promise we'll do everything we can to keep you safe. This house is layered with magic protection. You have a major goddess on your side"—he gestured to Bast, who was opening a can of Fancy Feast Tuna Supreme with her fingernails—"and the Kane family to protect you. Carter and Spencer are more powerful than you might realize, and I've battled Michel Desjardins before, if it comes to that."

Given all the trouble we'd had last Christmas, Amos's speech seemed a tad optimistic, but the trainees looked relieved.

"_If _it comes to that?" Alyssa asked. "It sounds pretty certain they'll attack us."

Amos knitted his brow. "Perhaps, but it troubles me that Desjardins would agree to such a foolish move. Apophis is the real enemy, and Desjardins knows it. He should realize he needs all the help he can get. Unless…" He didn't finish the sentence. Whatever he was thinking, it apparently troubled him greatly.

"At any rate, if Desjardins decides to come after us, he will plan carefully. He knows this mansion will not fall easily. He can't afford to be embarrassed by the Kane family again. He'll study the problem, consider his options, and gather his forces. It would take several days for him to prepare —time he should be using to stop Apophis."

Walt raised an index finger. I don't know what it is about him, but he has a sort of gravity that draws the group's attention when he's about to speak. Even Khufu looked up from his Jell-O. "If Desjardins _does _attack us," Walt said, "he'll be well prepared, with magicians who are a lot more experienced than we are. Can he get through our defenses?"

Amos gazed at the sliding glass doors, possibly remembering the last time our defenses had been breached. The results hadn't been good. "We must make sure it doesn't come to that," he said. "Desjardins knows what we're attempting, and that we only have five days—well, four days, now. According to Spencer's vision, Desjardins is aware of our plan and will try to prevent it out of some misguided belief that we are working for the forces of Chaos. But if we succeed, we'll have bargaining power to make Desjardins back off. "

Cleo raised her hand. "Um…_We _don't know the plan. Four days to do what?"

Amos gestured at Carter, inviting him to explain. That was fine with me. Honestly, I found the plan a bit crazy. My brother sat up. I must give him credit. Over the last few months, he'd made progress at resembling a normal teenager. After six years of homeschooling and traveling with Dad, Carter had been hopelessly out of touch. He'd dressed like a junior executive, in crisp white shirts and slacks. Now at least he'd learned to wear jeans and T-shirts and the occasional hoodie. He'd let his hair grow out in a curly mess—which looked _much _better. If he kept on improving, the boy might even get a date some day. [What? Don't poke me. It was a compliment!]

"We're going to wake the god Ra," Carter said, as if it was as easy as getting a snack from the fridge. The trainees glanced at one another. Carter wasn't known for his sense of humor, but they must've wondered if he was joking.

"You mean the sun god," Felix said. "The old king of the gods."

Carter nodded. "You all know the story. Thousands of years ago, Ra got senile and retreated into the heavens, leaving Osiris in charge. Then Osiris got overthrown by Set. Then Horus defeated Set and became pharaoh. Then—"

I coughed. "Short version, please."

Carter gave me a cross look. "The point is, Ra was the first and most powerful king of the gods. We believe Ra is still alive. He's just asleep somewhere deep in the Duat. If we can wake him—"

"But if he retired because he was senile," Walt said, "wouldn't that mean he's really, _really _senile now?"

I'd asked the same thing when Carter first told me his idea. The last thing we needed was an all-powerful god who couldn't remember his own name, smelled like old people, and drooled in his sleep.

And how could an immortal being get senile in the first place? No one had given me a satisfactory answer.

Amos and Carter looked at Bast, which made sense, as she was the only Egyptian god present. She frowned at her uneaten Fancy Feast. "Ra is the god of the sun. In olden times, he aged as the day aged, then sailed through the Duat on his boat each night and was reborn with the sunrise each morning."

"But the sun isn't reborn," I put in. "It's just the rotation of the earth—"

"Spencer," Bast warned.

Right, right. Myth and science were both true—simply different versions of the same reality, blah, blah. I'd heard that lecture a hundred times, and I didn't want to hear it again. Bast pointed at the scroll, which I'd set next to my teacup. "When Ra stopped making his nightly journey, the cycle was broken, and Ra faded into permanent twilight—at least, so we think. He meant to sleep forever. But if you could find him in the Duat—and that's a big _if_—it's possible he might be brought back and reborn with the right magic. The Book of Ra describes how this might be done. Ra's priests created the book in ancient times and kept it secret, dividing it into three parts, to be used only if the world was ending."

"If…the world was ending?" Cleo asked. "You mean Apophis is really going to…to swallow the sun?"

Walt looked at me. "Is that possible? In your story about the Red Pyramid, you said Apophis was behind Set's plan to destroy North America. He was trying to cause so much chaos that he could break out of his prison."

I shivered, remembering the apparition that had appeared in the sky over Washington, D.C.—a writhing giant snake.

"Apophis is the _real _problem," I agreed. "We stopped him once, but his prison is weakening. If he

manages to escape—"

"He will," Carter said. "In four days. Unless we stop him. And then he'll destroy civilization—everything humans have built since the dawn of Egypt."

That put a chill over breakfast table. Carter and I had talked privately about the four-day deadline, of course. Horus and Isis had both discussed it with us. But it had seemed like a horrible possibility rather than absolute certainty. Now, Carter sounded sure. I studied his face and realized he'd seen something during the night—possibly a vision even worse than mine. His expression said, _Not here. I'll tell you later._

Bast was digging her claws into the dining table. Whatever the secret was, she must be in on it.

At the far end of the table, Felix counted on his fingers. "Why four days? What's so special about…_um, _March twenty-first?"

"The spring equinox," Bast explained. "A powerful time for magic. The hours of day and night are exactly balanced, meaning the forces of Chaos and Ma'at can be easily tipped one way or the other. It's the perfect time to awaken Ra. In fact, it's our _only _chance until the fall equinox, six months from now, but we can't wait that long."

"Because unfortunately," Amos added, "the equinox is also the perfect time for Apophis to escape

his prison and invade the mortal world. You can be sure he has minions working on that right now.

According to our sources among the gods, Apophis will succeed, which is why we have to awaken Ra first."

I'd heard all this before, but discussing it in the open, in front of all our trainees, and seeing the

devastated looks on their faces, it all seemed much more frightening and real.

I cleared my throat. "Right…so _when _Apophis breaks out, he'll try to destroy Ma'at, the order of the

universe. He'll swallow the sun, plunge the earth into eternal darkness, and otherwise make us have a

very bad day."

"Which is why we need Ra." Amos modulated his tone, making it calm and reassuring for our

trainees. He projected such composure, even I felt a little less terrified. I wondered if this was a kind of

magic, or if he was just better at explaining Armageddon than I was.

"Ra was Apophis's archenemy," he continued. "Ra is the Lord of Order, whereas Apophis is the

Lord of Chaos. Since the beginning of time, these two forces have been in a perpetual battle to destroy

one another. If Apophis returns, we have to make sure we have Ra on our side to counteract him. Then

we stand a chance."

"A chance," Walt said. "Assuming we can find Ra and wake him, and the rest of the House of Life

doesn't destroy us first."

Amos nodded. "But if we can awaken Ra, that would be a feat more difficult than any magician

has ever accomplished. It would make Desjardins think twice. The Chief Lector…well, it would seem he's

not thinking clearly, but he's no fool. He recognizes the danger of Apophis rising. We must convince him

that we're on the same side, that the path of the gods is the only way to defeat Apophis. I would rather

do this than fight him."

Personally, I wanted to punch Desjardins in the face and set his beard on fire, but I supposed Amos

had a point.

Cleo, poor thing, had gone as green as a frog. She'd come all the way from Brazil to Brooklyn to

study the path of Thoth, god of knowledge, and we'd already pegged her as our future librarian; but

when the dangers were real, and not just in the pages of books…well, she had a tender stomach. I hoped

she could make it to the edge of the terrace if she needed to.

"The—the scroll," she managed, "you said there are two other parts?"

I took the scroll. In the daylight it looked more fragile—brittle and yellow and likely to crumble.

My fingers trembled. I could feel magic humming in the papyrus like a low-voltage current. I felt an

overwhelming desire to open it.

I began to unroll the cylinder. Carter tensed.

Amos said, "Spencer…"

No doubt they expected Brooklyn to catch fire again, but nothing happened. I spread out the

scroll and found it was written in gibberish—not hieroglyphics, not any language I could recognize. The

end of the papyrus was a jagged line, as if it had been ripped.

"I imagine the pieces graft together," I said. "It will be readable only when all three sections are

combined."

Carter looked impressed. But honestly, I do know_some _things. During our last adventure I'd read a

scroll to banish Set, and it had worked much the same way.

Khufu looked up from his Jell-O. _"Agh!" _He put three slimy grapes on the table.

"Exactly," Bast agreed. "As Khufu says, the three sections of the book represent the three aspects of

Ra—morning, noon, and night. That scroll there is the spell of Khnum. You'll need to find the other two

now."

How Khufu fit all of that into a single grunt, I didn't know; but I wished I could take all my classes

from baboon teachers. I'd have middle school and high school finished in a week.

"So the other two grapes," I said, "I mean, scrolls…according to my vision last night, they won't be

easy to find."

Amos nodded. "The first section was lost eons ago. The middle section is in the possession of the

House of Life. It has been moved many times, and is always kept under tight security. Judging from your

vision, I'd say the scroll is now in the hands of Vladimir Menshikov."

"The ice cream man," I guessed. "Who is he?"

Amos traced something on the table—perhaps a protective hieroglyph. "The third-most powerful

magician in the world. He's also one of Desjardins' strongest supporters. He runs the Eighteenth Nome, in

Russia."

Bast hissed. Being a cat, she was quite good at that. "Vlad the Inhaler. He's got an evil reputation."

I remembered his ruined eyes and wheezing voice. "What happened to his face?"

Bast was about to answer, but Amos cut her off.

"Just realize that he's quite dangerous," he warned. "Vlad's main talent is silencing rogue

magicians."

"You mean he's an assassin?" I asked. "Wonderful. And Desjardins just gave him permission to hunt

Carter and me if we leave Brooklyn."

"Which you'll _have _to do," Bast said, "if you want to seek the other sections of the Book of Ra. You

have only four days."

"Yes," I muttered, "you may have mentioned that. You'll be coming with us, won't you?"

Bast looked down at her Fancy Feast.

"Spencer…" She sounded miserable. "Carter and I were talking and…well, someone has to check on

Apophis's prison. We have to know what's going on, how close it is to breaking, and if there's a way to

stop it. That requires a firsthand look."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this. "You're going _back _there? After all my parents did to free

you?"

"I'll only approach the prison from the outside," she promised. "I'll be careful. I am a creature of

stealth, after all. Besides, I'm the only one who knows how to find his cell, and that part of the Duat would

be lethal to a mortal. I—I must do this."

Her voice trembled. She'd once told me that cats weren't brave, but going back to her old prison

seemed like quite a courageous thing to do.

"I won't leave you undefended," she promised. "I have a…a friend. He should arrive from the Duat

by tomorrow. I've asked him to find you and protect you."

"A friend?" I asked.

Bast squirmed. "Well…sort of."

That didn't sound encouraging.

I looked down at my street clothes. A sour taste filled my mouth. Carter and I had a quest to

undertake, and it was unlikely we would come back alive. Another responsibility on my shoulders,

another unreasonable demand for me to sacrifice my life for the greater good. Happy birthday to me.

Khufu belched and pushed away his empty plate. He bared his Jell-O–stained fangs as if to say

_Well, that's settled! Good breakfast!_

"I'll get packed," Carter said. "We can leave in an hour."

"No," I said. I'm not sure who was more surprised—me or my brother.

"No?" Carter asked.

"It's my birthday," I said, which probably made me sound like a seven-year-old brat—but at the

moment I didn't care.

The trainees looked astonished. Several mumbled their good wishes. Khufu offered me his empty

Jell-O bowl as a present. Felix halfheartedly started singing "Happy Birthday," but no one joined him, so

he gave up.

"Bast said her friend won't arrive until tomorrow," I continued. "Amos said it would take

Desjardins some time to prepare any sort of attack. Besides, I've been planning my trip to London for

ages. I think I have time for _one _bloody day off before the world ends."

The others stared at me. Was I selfish? All right, yes. Irresponsible? Perhaps. So why did I feel so

strongly about putting my foot down?

This may come as a shock to you, but I don't like feeling controlled. Carter was dictating what we

would do, but as usual he hadn't told me everything. He'd obviously consulted Amos and Bast already

and made a game plan. The three of them had decided what was best without bothering to ask me. My

one constant companion, Bast, was leaving me to embark on a horribly dangerous mission. And I'd be

stuck with my brother on my birthday, tracking down another magical scroll that might set me on fire or

worse.

Sorry. No thanks. If I was going to die, then it could wait until tomorrow morning.

Carter's expression was part anger, part disbelief. Normally, we tried to keep things civil in front of

our trainees. Now I was embarrassing him. He'd always complained how I rushed into things without

thinking. Last night he'd been irritated with me for grabbing that scroll, and I suspected in the back of his

mind he blamed me for things going wrong—for Jaz's getting hurt. No doubt he saw this as another

example of my reckless nature.

I was quite prepared for a knockdown fight, but Amos interceded.

"Spencer, a visit to London is dangerous." He held up his hand before I could protest. "However, if

you must…" He took a deep breath, as if he didn't like what he was about to say. "…then at least promise

you'll be careful. I doubt Vlad Menshikov will be ready to move against us so quickly. You should be all

right as long as you use no magic, do nothing to attract attention."

"Amos!" Carter protested.

Amos cut him off with a stern look. "While Spencer is gone, we can begin planning. Tomorrow morning, the two of you can begin your quest. I will take over your teaching duties with our trainees, and oversee the defense of Brooklyn House."

I could see in Amos's eyes he didn't want me to go. It was foolish, dangerous, and rash—in other words, rather typical of me. But I could also sense his sympathy for my predicament. I remembered how fragile Amos had looked after Set took over his body last Christmas. When he'd gone to the First Nome for healing, I knew he'd felt guilty about leaving us alone. Still, it had been the right choice for his sanity. Amos, of all people, knew what it was like to need to get away. If I stayed here, if I left on a quest straightaway without even time to breathe, I felt I would explode. Besides, I felt better knowing Amos would be covering for us at Brooklyn House. I was relieved to give up my teaching duties for a while. Truth be told, I'm a _horrid _teacher. I simply have no patience for it. [Oh, be quiet, Carter. You weren't supposed to _agree _with me.]

"Thank you, Amos," I managed.

He stood, clearly indicating that the meeting was over.

"I think that's enough for one morning," he said. "The main thing is for all of you to continue your training, and don't despair. We'll need you in top shape to defend Brooklyn House. We_will _prevail. With the gods on our side, Ma'at will overcome Chaos, as it always has before."

The trainees still looked uneasy, but they stood and began to clear their dishes. Carter gave me one more angry look, then stormed inside. That was _his _problem. I was determined not to feel guilty. I would not have my birthday ruined. Still, as I stared down at my cold tea and uneaten _pain au chocolat, _I had a horrible feeling I might never sit at this table again.

An hour later I was ready for London. I'd chosen a new staff from the arsenal and stowed it in the Duat along with my other supplies. I left the magic Bullwinkle scroll with Carter, who wouldn't even talk to me, then checked on Jaz in the infirmary and found her still in a coma. An enchanted washcloth kept her forehead cool. Healing hieroglyphs floated around her bed, but she still looked so frail. Without her usual smile, she seemed like a different person. I sat next to her and held her hand. My heart felt as heavy as a bowling ball. Jaz had risked her life to protect us. She'd gone up against a mob of _bau _with only a few weeks of training. She'd tapped into the energy of her patron goddess, Sekhmet, just as we'd taught her, and the effort had almost destroyed her.

What had I sacrificed lately? I'd thrown a tantrum because I might miss my birthday party.

"I'm so sorry, Jaz." I knew she couldn't hear me, but my voice quavered. "I just…I'll go mad if I don't get away. We've already had to save the bloody world once, and now I have to do it again…."

I imagined what Jaz would say—something reassuring, no doubt: _It's not your fault, Spencer. You deserve a few hours._

That just made me feel worse. I should never have allowed Jaz to put herself in danger. Six years ago, my mother had died channeling too much magic. She'd burned up closing the gate to Apophis's prison. I'd known that, and yet I'd allowed Jaz, who had much less experience, to risk her life to save ours. As I said…I'm a horrid teacher.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore. I squeezed Jaz's hand, told her to get better soon, and left the infirmary. I climbed to the roof, where we kept our relic for opening portals—a stone sphinx from the ruins of Heliopolis. I tensed when I noticed Carter at the other end of the roof, feeding a pile of roasted turkeys to the griffin. Since last night, he'd constructed quite a nice stable for the monster, so I guessed it would be staying with us. At least that would keep the pigeons off the roof.

I almost hoped Carter would ignore me. I wasn't in the mood for another argument. But when he saw me, he scowled, wiped the turkey grease off his hands, and walked over. I braced myself for a scolding.

Instead he grumbled, "Be careful. I got you a birthday gift, but I'll wait until…you come back."

He didn't add the word _alive, _but I thought I heard it in his tone. "Look, Carter—"

"Just go," he said. "It's not going to help us to argue."

I wasn't sure whether to feel guilty or angry, but I supposed he had a point. We didn't have a very good history with birthdays. One of my earliest memories was fighting with Carter on my sixth birthday, and my cake exploding from the magical energy we stirred up. Perhaps, considering that, I should've left well enough alone. But I couldn't quite do it.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I know you blame me for picking up the scroll last night, and for Jaz's getting hurt, but I feel as if I'm falling apart—"

"You're not the only one," he said.

A lump formed in my throat. I'd been so worried about Carter's being mad at me, I hadn't paid attention to his tone. He sounded absolutely miserable.

"What is it?" I asked. "What happened?"

He wiped his greasy hands on his trousers. "Yesterday at the museum…one of those spirits—one of them talked to me." He told me about his odd encounter with the flaming _bau, _how time had seemed to slow down and the _bau _had warned Carter our quest would fail. "He said…" Carter's voice broke. "He said Zia was asleep at the Place of Red Sands, whatever that is. He said if I didn't give up the quest and rescue her, she would die."

"Carter," I said carefully, "did this spirit mention Zia by name?"

"Well, no…"

"Could he have meant something else?"

"No, I'm sure. He meant Zia."

I tried to bite my tongue. Honestly, I did. But the subject of Zia Rashid had become an unhealthy obsession for my brother.

"Carter, not to be unkind," I said, "but the last few months you've been seeing messages about Zia _everywhere. _Two weeks ago, you thought she was sending you a distress call in your mashed potatoes."

"It was a Z! Carved right in the potatoes!"

I held up my hands. "Fine and your dream last night?"

His shoulders tensed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. At breakfast, you said Apophis would escape from his prison on the equinox. You sounded completely certain, as if you'd seen proof. You'd already talked to Bast and convinced her to check Apophis's prison. Whatever you saw…it must've been bad."

"I…I don't know. I'm not sure."

"I see." My irritation rose. So Carter didn't want to tell me. We were back to keeping secrets from each other? Fine.

"We'll continue this later, then," I said. "See you tonight."

"You don't believe me," he said. "About Zia."

"And you don't trust me. So we're even."

We glared at each other. Then Carter turned and stomped off toward the griffin. I almost called him back. I hadn't meant to be so cross with him. On the other hand, apologizing is not my strong suit, and he _was _rather impossible. I turned to the sphinx and summoned a gateway. I'd got rather good at it, if I do say so myself. Instantly a swirling funnel of sand appeared in front of me, and I jumped through. A heartbeat later, I tumbled out at Cleopatra's Needle on the bank of the River Thames. Six years before, my mother had died here; it wasn't my favorite Egyptian monument, but the Needle was the closest magic portal to Gran and Gramps's flat.

Fortunately, the weather was miserable and there was no one about, so I brushed the sand off my clothes and headed for the Underground station. Thirty minutes later, I stood on the steps of my grandparents' flat. It seemed so odd to be…home? I wasn't even sure I could call it that anymore. For months I'd been longing for London—the familiar city streets, my favorite shops, my mates, my old room. I'd even been homesick for the dreary weather. But now everything seemed so different, so _foreign. _Nervously, I knocked on the door. No answer. I was sure they were expecting me. I knocked again. Perhaps they were hiding, waiting for me to come in. I imagined my grandparents, Luke, and Ethan crouching behind the furniture, ready to jump out and yell "Surprise!"

Hmm…Gran and Gramps crouching and jumping. Not bloody likely. I fished out my key and unlocked the door. The living room was dark and empty. The stairwell light was off, which Gran would never allow. She was mortally afraid of falling down stairs. Even Gramps's television was switched off, which wasn't right. Gramps always kept the rugby matches on, even if he wasn't watching. I sniffed the air. Six in the evening London time, yet no smell of burning biscuits from the kitchen. Gran should've burned at least one tray of biscuits for teatime. It was a tradition. I got out my phone to call Liz and Emma, but the phone was dead. I _knew _I'd charged the battery. My mind was just beginning to process a thought—_I am in danger_—when the front door slammed shut behind me. I spun, grabbing for my wand, which I didn't have.

Above me, at the top of the dark stairwell, a voice that was _definitely _not human hissed, "Welcome home, Spencer Kane."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

Yes,-I'm-HIGHLY-aware-I-_skipped-chapters=5-6_,-but-since-Sadie-wasn't-in-the-chapter-it-couldn't=be-translated=into=Spencer's-PoV.-Anyway-I've-been-busy-with=drawing-Spencer-and-I'm-planning-on-putting-in-my-DA-account,-you-can-find-the-link-on-my-profile-page.-**This-covers-chapters-7-and-8-Part-1.**

**Chapter 4- **_**(**__**7. A Gift from the Dog-headed Boy)**_

Well you talked long enough, brother dear. As you've been babbling on, everyone's been imagining me frozen in the doorway of Gran and Gramps's flat, screaming "AAHHHHH!" And the fact that you and Walt bolted off to London, assuming I needed to be rescued—men! Yes, fair enough. I _did _need help. But that's not the point.

Back to the story: I'd just heard a voice hissing from upstairs: "Welcome home, Spencer Kane."

Of course, I knew this was bad news, my hands tingled as if I'd stuck my fingers in a light socket. I tried to summon my staff and wand, but as I may have mentioned, I'm rubbish at retrieving things from the Duat on short notice; I cursed myself for not coming prepared—but really, I couldn't have been expected to wear linen pajamas and lug around a magic duffel bag for a night on the town with my mates. I considered fleeing, but Gran and Gramps might be in danger. I couldn't leave without knowing that they were safe. The stairwell creaked.

At the top, the hem of a black dress appeared, along with sandaled feet that weren't quite human. The toes were gnarled and leathery, with overgrown nails like a bird's talons. As the woman descended into full view, I made a very undignified whimpering noise. She looked a hundred years old, hunched over and emaciated. Her face, earlobes, and neck sagged with folds of wrinkly pink skin, as if she'd melted under a sunlamp. Her nose was a drooping beak. Her eyes gleamed in their cavernous sockets, and she was almost bald—just a few greasy black tufts like weeds pushing through her craggy scalp. Her dress, however, was absolutely plush. It was midnight black, fluffy, and huge like a fur coat six sizes too big. As she stepped toward me, the material shifted, and I realized that it wasn't fur. The dress was made from black feathers. Her hands appeared from her sleeves—claw-like fingers beckoning me forward. Her smile revealed teeth like broken bits of glass. And did I mention the smell? Not just old person smell—old _dead _person smell.

"I've been waiting for you," said the hag. "Fortunately, I'm very patient."

I grasped the air for my wand. Of course, I had no luck. Without Isis in my head, I couldn't simply speak words of power anymore. I had to have my tools. My only chance was to stall for time and hope I could collect my thoughts enough to access the Duat. "Who are you?" I asked. "Where are my grandparents?"

The hag reached the foot of the stairs. From two meters away, her feathery dress appeared to be covered with bits of…egad, was that meat? "Don't you recognize me, dear?" Her image flickered. Her dress turned into a flowered housecoat. Her sandals became fuzzy green slippers. She had curly gray hair, watery blue eyes, and the expression of a startled rabbit. It was Grandmother's face.

"Spencer?" Her voice sounded weak and confused.

"Gran!"

Her image changed back to the black-feathered hag, her horrible melted face grinning maliciously. "Yes, dear. Your family is blood of the pharaohs, after all—perfect hosts for the gods. Don't make me strain myself, though. Your grandmother's heart isn't what it used to be."

My whole body began to shake. I'd seen possession before, and it was always hideous. But _this_—the idea of some Egyptian hag taking over my poor old Gran—this was horrifying. If I had any blood of the pharaohs, it was turning to ice. "Leave her alone!" I meant to shout, but I'm afraid my voice was more of a terrified squeak. "Get out of her!"

The hag cackled. "Oh, I can't do that. You see, Spencer Kane, some of us doubt your strength."

"Some of who—the gods?"

Her face rippled, momentarily changing into a horrible bird's head, bald and scaly pink with a long sharp beak. Then she morphed back into the grinning hag. I really wished she would make up her mind. "I don't bother the strong, Spencer Kane. In the old days, I even protected the pharaoh if he proved himself worthy. But the weak…Ah, once they fall under the shadow of my wings, I never let them go. I wait for them to die. I wait to feed. And I think, my dear, that you will be my next meal."

I pressed my back to the door. "I know you," I lied. Frantically, I ran down my mental list of Egyptian gods, trying to place the old hag. I still wasn't half as good as Carter at remembering all those odd names. [And no, Carter. That's not a compliment. It simply means you're a bigger nerd.] But after weeks of teaching our trainees, I'd gotten better. Names held power. If I could figure out my enemy's name, that was a good first step to defeating her. A grisly black bird…A bird that feeds on the dead… To my amazement, I actually remembered something. "You're the vulture goddess," I said triumphantly. "Neckbutt, is it?"

The old hag snarled. "Nekhbet!"

All right, so I was close. "But you're supposed to be a _good _goddess!" I protested.

The goddess spread her arms. They turned into wings—black, matted plumage buzzing with flies and smelling of death. "Vultures are _very _good, Spencer Kane. We remove the sickly and weak. We circle them until they die, then feed on their carcasses, cleaning the world of their stench. You, on the other hand, would bring back Ra, that wizened old carcass of a sun god. You would place a weak pharaoh on the throne of the gods. It goes against nature! Only the strong should live. The dead should be eaten." Her breath smelled like roadkill. Despicable creatures, vultures: without a doubt the most disgusting birds ever. I supposed they served their purpose, but did they have to be so greasy and ugly? Couldn't we have cute fuzzy rabbits that cleaned up roadkill instead?

"Right," I said. "First, get _out _of my Gran. Then, if you're a good vulture, I'll buy you some breath mints."

This must've been a sore subject for Nekhbet. She lunged at me. I dove sideways, clambering over the couch and tipping it in the process. Nekhbet swept Gran's china collection off the sideboard. "You will die, Spencer Kane!" she said. "I will pick clean your bones. Then the other gods will see you were not worthy!"

I waited for another attack, but she just glared at me from the other side of the sofa. It occurred to me that vultures don't usually kill. They wait for their prey to die. Nekhbet's wings filled the room. Her shadow fell over me, wrapping me in darkness. I began to feel trapped, helpless, like a small sickly animal. If I hadn't tested my will against gods before, I might not have recognized this as magic—this insistent nagging in the back of my mind, urging me to give up in despair. But I'd stood against any number of horrid gods from the underworld. I could handle a greasy old bird.

"Nice try," I said. "But I'm not going to lie down and die."

Nekhbet's eyes glittered. "Perhaps it will take some time, my dear, but as I told you, I'm patient. If you won't succumb, your mortal friends will be here soon. What are their names—Luke and Ethan?"

"Leave them out of this!"

"Ah, they'll make lovely appetizers. And you haven't even said hello to dear old Gramps yet."

Blood roared in my ears. "Where is he?" I demanded.

Nekhbet glanced at the ceiling. "Oh, he'll be along shortly. We vultures like to follow a nice big predator around, you know, and wait for it to do the killing."

From upstairs came a muffled crash—as if a large piece of furniture had been thrown out a window. Gramps shouted, "No! No-o-o-o!" Then his voice changed into the roar of a mad animal. "NOOOOOOAHHH!"

The last of my courage melted into my combat boots. "Wh-what—"

"Yes," Nekhbet said. "Babi is waking."

"B-bobby? You've got a god named Bobby?"

"B-A-B-I," the vulture goddess snarled. "You really are quite dense, aren't you, dear?" The ceiling plaster cracked under the weight of heavy footsteps. Something was tromping toward the stairwell. "Babi will take good care of you," Nehkbet promised. "And there will be plenty left over for me."

"Good-bye," I said, and I bolted for the door.

Nekhbet didn't try to stop me. She shrieked behind me, "A hunt! Excellent!"

I made it across the street when our front door exploded. Glancing back, I saw something emerge from the ruins and dust—a dark hairy shape much too big to be my grandfather. I didn't wait for a better look. I raced around the corner of South Colonnade and plowed straight into Luke and Ethan.

"Spencer!" Luke yelped, dropping a birthday present. "What's wrong?"

"No time!" I said. "Come on!"

"Nice to see you, too," Ethan grumbled. "Where are you rushing off—"

The creature behind me bellowed, quite close now.

"Explain later," I said. "Unless you'd like to be ripped apart by a god named Bobby, follow me!"

Looking back, I can appreciate just what a _miserable _birthday I was having, but at the time I was too panicked to feel properly sorry for myself. We ran down South Colonnade, the roaring behind us almost drowned out by Luke and Ethan's complaining.

"Spencer!" Ethan said. "Is this one of your jokes?"

He'd gotten a bit taller but still looked much the same, with his oversize, metal glasses and short spiky hair. He wore a black leather jacket, a fuzzy army print scarf, and highly useful hiking boots that he could barely walk in, much less run.

"It's no joke," I promised. "And for god's sake, lose those shoes!"

Ethan looked appalled. "You know how comfortable these are?"

"Honestly, Spencer," Luke put in. "Where are you dragging us to?"

He was dressed more sensibly in jeans and running shoes, a white top and denim jacket, but he looked just as winded as Ethan. Tucked under his arm, my birthday present was getting a bit squashed. Luke was a redhead with lots of freckles, and when he got embarrassed or overexerted himself, his pale face became so flushed, and his freckles would disappear. Under normal circumstances Ethan and I would've teased him about this, but not today. Behind us, the creature roared again. I looked back, which was a mistake. I faltered to a stop, and my mates ran into me.

For a brief moment, I thought, My god, it's Khufu. But Khufu wasn't the size of a grizzly bear. He didn't have glittering silver fur, fangs like scimitars, or a look of bloodlust in his eyes. The baboon ravaging Canary Wharf looked like he would eat _anything,_ not just foods ending with an - _o, _and would have no difficulty ripping me limb from limb. The only good news: the activity on the street had momentarily distracted him. Cars swerved to avoid the beast. Pedestrians screamed and ran. The baboon began overturning taxis, smashing shop windows, and causing a general riot. As he got closer to us, I saw a bit of red cloth hanging from his left arm—the remains of Gramps's favorite cardigan. Stuck on his forehead were Gramps's glasses.

Until that moment, the shock hadn't fully hit me. That thing was my _grandfather, _who had never used magic, never done anything to annoy the Egyptian gods. There were times I didn't like my grandparents, especially when they'd said bad things about my dad, or ignored Carter, or when they'd let Amos take me away last Christmas without a fight. But still, they'd raised me for six years. Gramps had put me on his lap and read me his dusty old Enid Blyton stories when I was small. He'd watched after me at the park and taken me to the zoo countless times. He'd bought me sweets even though Gran disapproved. He may have had a temper, but he was a reasonably harmless old pensioner. He certainly didn't deserve to have his body taken over like this.

The baboon ripped the door off a pub and sniffed inside. Panicked patrons smashed through a window and ran off down the street, still holding their pints. A policeman ran toward the commotion, saw the baboon, then turned and ran the other way, yelling into his radio for reinforcements. When faced with magical events, mortal eyes tended to short-circuit, sending the brain only images it could understand. I had no idea what these people _thought _they were seeing —possibly an escaped zoo animal or an enraged gunman—but they knew enough to flee. I wondered what the London security cameras would make of the scene later.

"Spencer," Luke said in a very small voice, "what _is _that?"

"Babi," I said. "The bloody god of baboons. He's taken over my granddad. And he wants to kill us."

"Excuse me," Ethan said. "Did you just say a baboon god wants to kill us?"

The baboon roared, blinking and squinting as if he had forgotten what he was doing. Maybe he'd inherited Gramps's absentmindedness and bad eyesight. Maybe he didn't realize his glasses were on his head. He sniffed the ground, then bellowed in frustration and smashed the window of a bakery. I almost believed we'd gotten a bit of good luck. Perhaps we could sneak away. Then a dark shape glided overhead, spreading its black wings and crying, "Here! Here!"

Wonderful. The baboon had air support.

"Two gods, actually," I told my friends. "Now, unless there are any more questions—run!"

This time Luke and Ethan needed no encouragement. Ethan kicked off his shoes, Luke tossed aside my present—pity, that—and we raced one another down the street. We zigzagged through alleyways, hugging walls for cover whenever the vulture goddess swooped overhead. I heard Babi roaring along behind us, ruining people's evenings and smashing up the neighborhood; but he seemed to have lost our scent for the moment. We paused at a T in the road while I considered which way to run. In front of us stood a little church, the sort of ancient building you often find in London—a somber bit of medieval stone wedged between a Caffè Nero and a chemist's shop with neon signs offering selected hair products 3 for £1. The church had a tiny graveyard enclosed with a rusty fence, but I wouldn't have paid it much attention if a voice inside the yard hadn't whispered, "Spencer."

It's a miracle my heart didn't jump out of my throat. I turned and found myself face-to-face with Anubis. He was in his mortal form as a teen boy with dark, windblown hair and warm brown eyes. He wore a black Dead Weather T-shirt and black jeans that fit him extremely well. Luke and Ethan are not known for being smooth around good-looking boys. In fact, their brains more or less cease to function.

Luke gasped in single syllables that sounded like Lamaze breathing, "Oh—ah—hi—who—what—?"

Ethan lost control of his legs and stumbled into me. I shot both of them a harsh look, then turned to Anubis.

"It's about time someone friendly showed up," I complained. "There's a baboon and a vulture trying to kill us. Would you _please _sort them out?"

Anubis pursed his lips, and I got the feeling that he wasn't there to bring me good news. "Come into my territory," he said, opening the graveyard gate. "We need to talk, and there isn't much time."

Ethan stumbled into me again. "Your, _um_, territory?"

Luke gulped. "Who—ah—?"

"Shhh," I told them, trying to stay composed, as if I met hot guys in graveyards every day. I glanced down the street and saw no sign of Babi or Nekhbet, but I could still hear them —the baboon god roaring, the vulture goddess shrieking in my Gran's voice (if Gran had been eating gravel and taking steroids) "This way! This way!"

"Wait here," I told my friends, and I stepped inside the gate.

Immediately, the air turned colder. Mist rose from the soggy ground. The gravestones shimmered, and everything outside the fence went slightly out of focus. Anubis made me feel unbalanced in many ways, of course, but I recognized this effect. We were slipping into the Duat—experiencing the graveyard on two levels at once: Anubis's world and mine. He led me to a crumbling stone sarcophagus and bowed to it respectfully. "Beatrice, do you mind if we sit?"

Nothing happened. The inscription on the sarcophagus had worn away centuries ago, but I supposed this was Beatrice's final resting place.

"Thank you." Anubis gestured for me to sit. "She doesn't mind."

"What happens if she _does _mind?" I sat down a bit apprehensively.

"The Eighteenth Nome," Anubis said.

"Excuse me?"

"That's where you must go. Vlad Menshikov has the second section of the Book of Ra in the top drawer of his desk, in his headquarters in St. Petersburg. It's a trap, of course. He's hoping to bait you. But if want the scroll, you've got no choice. You should go tonight, before he has time to strengthen his defenses even further. And Spencer, if the other gods found out I was telling you this, I would be in big trouble."

I stared at him. Sometimes he acted so much like a teenager, it was hard to believe he was thousands of years old. I suppose that came from living a sheltered life in the Land of the Dead, unaffected by the passage of time. The boy really needed to get out more.

"You're worried about getting into trouble?" I asked. "Anubis, not that I'm ungrateful, but I've got bigger problems at the moment. Two gods have possessed my grandparents. If you want to lend a hand—"

"Spencer, I can't intervene." He turned up his palms in frustration. "I told you when we first met, this isn't an actual physical body."

"Shame," I mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"I can manifest in places of death, like this churchyard, but there is very little I can do outside my territory. Now, if you were already dead and you wanted a nice funeral, I could help you, but—"

"Oh, thanks!"

Somewhere nearby, the baboon god roared. Glass shattered, and bricks crumbled. My friends called to me, but the sounds were distorted and muffled, as if I was hearing them from underwater.

"If I go on without my friends," I asked Anubis, "will the gods leave them alone?"

Anubis shook his head. "Nekhbet preys on the weak. She knows that hurting your friends will weaken you. That's why she targeted your grandparents. The only way to stop her is by facing her down. As for Babi, he represents the darkest qualities of you primates: murderous rage, uncontrolled strength—"

"We primates?" I said. "Sorry, did you just call me a baboon?"

Anubis studied me with a kind of confused awe. "I'd forgotten how irritating you are. My point was that he will kill you just for the sake of killing."

"And you can't help me."

He gave me a mournful look with those gorgeous brown eyes. "I told you about St. Petersburg."

Lord, he was good-looking, and _so _annoying. "Well, then, god of pretty much nothing useful," I said, "anything else before I get myself killed?"

He held up his hand. A strange sort of knife materialized in his grasp. It was shaped like a Sweeney Todd razor: long, curvy, and wickedly sharp along one edge, made from black metal. "Take this," Anubis said. "It will help."

"Have you seen the _size _of the baboon? Am I supposed to give him a shave?"

"This is not to fight Babi or Nekhbet," he said, "but you will need it soon for something even more important. It's a _netjeri _blade, made from meteoric iron. It's used for a ceremony I once told you about—the opening of the mouth."

"Yes, well, if I survive the night, I'll be sure to take this razor and open someone's mouth. Thanks ever so much."

Luke screamed, "Spencer!" Through the mist of the graveyard, I saw Babi a few blocks away, lumbering toward the church. He'd spotted us.

"Take the Underground," Anubis suggested, pulling me to my feet. "There's a station half a block south. They won't be able to track you very well below the earth. Running water is also good. Creatures of the Duat are weakened by crossing a river. If you must battle them, find a bridge over the Thames. Oh, and I told your driver to come get you."

"My driver?"

"Yes. He wasn't planning to meet you until tomorrow, but—"

A red Royal Mail box hurtled through the air and smashed into the building next door. My friends screamed at me to hurry.

"Go," Anubis said. "I'm sorry I can't do more. But happy birthday, Spencer."

He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. Then he melted into mist and disappeared. The graveyard became normal again—part of the regular, unshimmery world. I should've been very cross with Anubis. Kissing me without permission—the nerve! But I stood there, paralyzed, staring at Beatrice's crumbling sarcophagus, until Ethan yelled, "Spencer, come on!"

My friends grabbed my arms, and I remembered how to run. We bolted for the Canary Wharf tube station. The baboon roared and smashed through traffic behind us. Overhead, Nekhbet shrieked, "There they go! Kill them!"

"Who was that boy?" Ethan demanded as we plunged into the station. "God, he was hot."

"A god," I muttered. "Yes."

I slipped the black razor into my pocket and clambered down the escalator, my lips still tingling from my first kiss. And if I was humming "Happy Birthday" and smiling stupidly as I fled for my life—well, that was nobody's business, was it?

_**{8. Major Delays at Waterloo Station (We Apologize for the Giant Baboon)}-P1**_

The London underground has lovely acoustics. Sound echoed through the tunnels, so as we descended I could hear the rush of the trains, the musicians playing for coins, and of course the killerbaboon god roaring for blood as he pulverized the turnstiles behind with terrorism threats and stepped-up security, one might've expected a few police to be onhand; but sadly not this time of evening, not at such a relatively small station. Sirens wailed from thestreet above, but we'd be dead or long gone by the time mortal help arrived. And if the police _did _try toshoot Babi while he possessed Gramps's body—no. I forced myself not to think about that.

Anubis had suggested traveling underground. And if I had to fight, I should find a bridge. I had to stick with that plan. There wasn't much choice of trains at Canary Wharf. Thankfully, the Jubilee Line was running on time. We made it to the platform, jumped aboard the last carriage as the doors were closing, and collapsed on a bench. The train lurched away into the dark tunnel. Behind us, I saw no sign of Babi or Nekhbet chasing us.

"Spencer Kane," Ethan gasped. "Will you _please _tell us what's going on?"

My poor friends' I'd _never _gotten them into this much trouble, not even when we got shut in the Girls' changing room at school. (Long story, which involved a five quid bet, Dalia Quinn's bare chest, and a squirrel. Perhaps I'll tell you later.) Ethan's feet were cut and blistered from running barefoot. His fluffy Army scarf looked like mangled poodle fur, and his glasses had a crack in one of the lenses.

Luke's face was red as a valentine and he'd taken off his denim jacket, which he _never _does, as he's always cold. His white top was blotted with sweat. His arms were so freckly, they reminded me of Nut the sky goddess's constellation skin. Of the two, Ethan looked more annoyed, waiting for my explanation. Luke looked horrified, his mouth moving as if he wanted to speak but had lost his vocal cords. I thought he'd make some comment about the bloodthirsty gods chasing us, but when he finally found his voice, he said, "That boy kissed you!"

Leave it to Luke to have his priorities straight.

"I _will _explain," I promised. "I know I'm a horrible friend for dragging you both into this. But please, give me a moment. I need to concentrate."

"Concentrate on what?" Ethan demanded.

"Ethan, hush!" Luke chided. "He said to let his concentrate." I closed my eyes, trying to calm my nerves.

It wasn't easy, especially with an audience. Without my supplies, however, I was defenseless, and I wasn't likely to get another chance to retrieve them. I thought: _You can do this, Spencer. It's only reaching_ _into another dimension. Only ripping a tear in the fabric of reality._ I reached out and nothing happened. I tried again, and my hand disappeared into the Duat which made Luke shrieked. Fortunately, I didn't lose my concentration (or my hand). My fingers closed around the strap of my magic bag, and I pulled it free.

Ethan's eyes widened. "That's brilliant. How did you do that?"

I was wondering the same thing, actually. Given the circumstances, I couldn't believe I'd managed it on just my second try. "It's, um…magic," I said.

My mates stared at me, mystified and scared, and the enormity of my problems suddenly came crashing down on me. A year ago, Luke, Ethan, and I would've been riding this train to Funland or the cinema. We would've been laughing at the ridiculous ring tones on Luke's phone or Ethan's Photo-shopped pictures of the guys we hated at school. The most dangerous things in my life had been Gran's cooking and Gramps's temper when he saw my marks for the term. Now Gramps was a giant baboon. Gran was an evil vulture. My friends were regarding me as if I'd dropped from another planet, which wasn't far from the truth. Even with my magic supplies in hand, I had no idea what I was going to do. I didn't have the full power of Isis at my command anymore. If I tried to fight Babi and Nekhbet, I might injure my own grandparents and would likely get myself killed. But if I didn't stop them, who would? Godly possession would eventually burn out a human host. That had almost happened to Uncle Amos, who was a full-fledged magician and knew how to defend himself. Gran and Gramps were old, frail, and quite unmagical. They didn't have much time.

Despair—much worse than the vulture goddess's wings —overwhelmed me. I didn't realize I was crying until Luke put her hand on my shoulder. "Spencer, dear, we're sorry. It's just a bit…strange, you know? Tell us what's the matter. Let us help."

I took a shaky breath. I'd missed my mates so much. I'd always thought them a bit odd, but now they seemed blissfully _normal_—part of a world that wasn't mine anymore. They were both trying to act brave, but I could tell they were terrified inside. I wished I could leave them behind, hide them, keep them out of harm's way, but I remembered what Nekhbet had said: _They'll make lovely appetizers. _Anubis had warned that the vulture goddess would hunt down my friends and hurt them just to hurt me. At least if they were with me, I could try to protect them. I didn't want to upend their lives the way mine had been, but I owed them the truth.

"This will sound absolutely mad," I warned.

I gave them the shortest version possible—why I'd left London, how the Egyptian gods had escaped into the world, how I'd discovered my ancestry as a magician. I told them about our fight with Set, the rise of Apophis, and our insane idea to awaken the god Ra.

Two stations passed, but it felt so good to tell my friends the story that I rather lost track of time. When I was done, Luke and Ethan looked at one another, no doubt wondering how to gently tell me I was bonkers.

"I know it seems impossible," I said, "but—"

"Spencer, we believe you," Ethan said.

I blinked. "You do?"

"'Course we do." Luke's face was flushed, the way she got after several roller coaster rides. "I've never heard you talk so seriously about anything. You—you've changed."

"It's just I'm a magician now, and…and I can't believe how _stupid _that sounds."

"It's more than that." Ethan studied my face as if I was turning into something quite frightening. "You seem older. More mature."

Her voice was tinged with sadness, and I realized my mates and I were growing apart. It was as if we stood on opposite sides of a widening chasm. And I knew with gloomy certainty the breach was already too wide for me to jump back across.

"Your boyfriend is amazing," Luke added, probably to cheer me up.

"He's not my…" I stopped. There was no winning that argument with Luke. Besides, I was so mixed up about that bloody jackal Anubis, I didn't know where to begin. The train slowed. I saw the signs for Waterloo Station. "Oh, god," I said. "I meant to get off at London Bridge. I need a bridge."

"Can't we backtrack?" Luke asked.

A roar from the tunnel behind us answered that question. Looking back, I saw a large shape with glittering silver fur loping along the tracks. Its foot touched the third rail, and sparks flew; but the baboon god lumbered on, unfazed. As the train braked, Babi started to gain on us.

"No going back," I said. "We'll have to make it to Waterloo Bridge."

"That's half a mile from the station!" Luke protested. "What if it catches us?"

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out my new staff. Instantly it expanded to full length, the lion-carved tip blazing with golden light. "Then I suppose we'll have to fight."

Should I describe Waterloo Station as it was before or after we destroyed it? The main concourse was massive. It had a polished marble floor, loads of shops and kiosks, and a glass-and-girder ceiling high enough so that a helicopter could fly about inside comfortably. Rivers of people flowed in and out, mixing, separating, and occasionally colliding as they made their way to various escalators and platforms. When I was small, the station building had rather frightened me. I worried that the giant Victorian clock hanging from the ceiling might fall and crush me. The announcers' voices were much too loud. (I prefer to be the noisiest thing in my environment, thank you very much.) The masses of commuters standing mesmerized under the departure boards, watching for their trains, reminded me of a mob in a zombie movie—which, granted, I shouldn't have watched as a young child, but I was always rather precocious.

At any rate, my mates and I were racing through the main station, pushing our way toward the nearest exit, when a stairwell behind us exploded. Crowds scattered as Babi climbed from the rubble. Businessmen screamed, dropping their briefcases and sprinting for their lives. Luke, Ethan, and I pressed against the side of the Paperchase kiosk to avoid getting trampled by a group of tourists yelling in Italian. Babi howled. His fur was covered with grime and soot from his run through the tunnels. Gramps's cardigan was ripped to shreds on his arm, but, miraculously, his glasses were still on his head. He sniffed the air, probably trying to catch my scent. Then a dark shadow passed overhead.

"Where are you going, Spencer Kane?" Nekhbet shrieked. She soared through the terminal, swooping down on the already panicked crowds. "Would you fight by running away? You are not worthy!"

An announcer's calm voice echoed through the terminal: "The 8:02 train for Basingstoke will arrive on platform three."

"_ROOOAR!" _Babi swatted a bronze statue of some poor famous bloke and knocked his head clean off. A policeman ran forward, armed with a pistol. Before I could yell at him to stop, he fired a shot at Babi. Luke and Ethan both screamed. The bullet deflected off Babi's fur as if it were made of titanium, and shattered a nearby McDonald's sign. The officer fainted dead away. I'd never seen so many people clear out of a terminal so quickly. I considered following them, but decided it would be too dangerous. I couldn't have these insane gods killing loads of innocent people just because I was in their midst; and if we tried to join the exodus, we'd only get stuck or crushed in a stampede.

"Spencer, look!" Luke pointed up, and Ethan yelped.

Nekhbet sailed into the ceiling girders and perched there with the pigeons. She glared down at us and cried to Babi, "Here he is, my dear! Here!"

"I wish she'd shut up," I muttered.

"Isis was foolish to choose you!" Nekhbet yelled. "I will feed on your entrails!"

"_ROOOOAR!" _said Babi, in hearty agreement.

"The 8:14 train for Brighton is delayed," said the announcer. "We apologize for the inconvenience."

Babi had seen us now. His eyes smoldered with primal rage, but I also saw something of Gramps in his expression. The way he furrowed his brow and jutted out his chin—just as Gramps did when he got angry at the telly and yelled at the rugby players. Seeing that expression on the baboon god almost made me lose my nerve. I wasn't going to die here. I wasn't going to let these two repulsive gods hurt my friends or burn up my grandparents. Babi lumbered toward us. Now that he'd found us, he didn't seem in any hurry to kill us. He lifted his head and made a deep barking sound to the left and right, as if calling out, summoning friends for dinner. Ethan's fingers dug into my arm. Luke whimpered, "Spencer…?"

The crowds had mostly cleared out now. No other police were in sight. Perhaps they'd fled, or perhaps they were all on their way to Canary Wharf, not realizing the problem was now here.

"We're not going to die," I promised my mates. "Ethan, hold my staff."

"Your—Oh, right." He took the staff gingerly as if I'd handed him a rocket launcher, which I suppose it could've been with the proper spell.


	5. Chapter 5 VERY Important Info!

_**Author's Note:**_

_**I apologize for the hiatus upon this story, I just had to figure out how to explain how anno—Happy I am to do the requests.**_

_**One question: **__When you guys request Gender-bending anyone you have to note slight ship pairs in the book, any who I want to point out the request of gender-bending character, the only issue, I need you guys to vote/or submit a name for some of the characters._

_**Characters I am bending: **__Carter, Walt, Jaz, Zia and Anubis._

_**Name options for_:**_

_**Carter Kane: **__Cass(i/ie/y), Clara, Clarice, Kira, Kaite, or __**submit an option**__._

_**Walt Stone: **__Willow. (His is set in __stone__, oh a pun!)_

_**Jaz: **__Jasper. (name is also set in stone)_

_**Anubis: **__Azuli, Annika, Anna, Angel, Amelia, Anya, Alice or __**submit an option.**_

_**Zia:**__ Zane. (Name is set in stone, as well)_

_I will show tallies, for each option on the next update, so I need everyone or at least 10 for Carter and 10 for Anubis. This update only has Sadie Gender-bent. The next update may or may not be all the way gender-bent if I don't get enough votes or submission names. You can put you votes in your review of any of the chapters/__**Drops Of Emerald**__._

_**{8. Major Delays at Waterloo Station (We Apologize for the Giant Baboon)}-P2**_

"Luke," I ordered, "watch the baboon."

"Watching the baboon," he said. "Rather hard to miss the baboon."

I rummaged through my magic bag, desperately taking inventory. Wand…good for defense, but against two gods at once, I needed more. Sons of Horus, magic chalk—this wasn't the place to draw a protective circle. I had to get to the bridge. I needed to buy time to get out of this terminal.

"Spencer…" Luke warned.

Babi had jumped onto the roof of the Body Shop. He roared, and smaller baboons began to appear from every direction—climbing over the heads of fleeing commuters, swinging down from the girders, popping out of the stairwells and shops. There were dozens of them, all wearing black-and-silver basketball jerseys. Was basketball some sort of international baboon sport? Until today, I'd been rather fond of baboons. The ones I'd met before, like Khufu and his sociable friends, were the sacred animals of Thoth, god of knowledge. They were generally wise and helpful. I suspected, however, that Babi's troop of baboons was a different sort altogether. They had blood-red fur, wild eyes, and fangs that would've made a saber-toothed tiger feel inadequate. They began to close in, snarling as they prepared to pounce.

I pulled a block of wax from my bag—no time to fashion a _shabti. _Two _tyet _amulets, the sacred mark of Isis—ah, those might be helpful. Then I found a corked glass vial I'd quite forgotten about. Inside was some murky sludge: my first attempt at a potion. It had been sitting at the bottom of my bag for ages because I'd never been desperate enough to test it. I shook the potion. The liquid glowed with a sickly green light. Bits of gunk swirled inside. I uncorked it. The stuff smelled worse than Nekhbet.

"What _is _that?" Luke asked.

"Disgusting," I said. "Animation scroll blended with oil, water, and a few secret ingredients. Came out a bit chunky, I'm afraid."

"Animation?" Ethan asked. "You're going to summon cartoons?"

"That would be brilliant," I admitted. "But this is more dangerous. If I do it right, I can ingest a great deal of magic without burning myself up."

"And if you do it wrong?" Luke asked.

I handed them each an amulet of Isis. "Hold on to these. When I say _Go, _run for the taxi stands. Don't stop."

"Spencer," Ethan protested, "what on earth—"

Before I could lose my nerve, I gagged down the potion.

Above us, Nekhbet cackled. "Give up! You cannot oppose us!" The shadow of her wings seemed to spread over the entire concourse, making the last of the commuters flee in panic and weighing me down with fear. I knew it was only a spell, but still, the temptation to accept a quick death was almost overwhelming.

A few of the baboons got distracted by the smell of food and raided the McDonald's. Several others were chasing a train conductor, beating him with rolled-up fashion magazines. Sadly, most of the baboons were still focused on us. They made a loose ring around the Paper-chase kiosk. From his command station atop the Body Shop, Babi howled—a clear command to attack. Then the potion hit my gut. Magic coursed through my body. My mouth tasted like I'd swallowed a dead toad, but now I understood why potions were so popular with ancient magicians. The animation spell, which had taken me days to write and would normally take at least an hour

to cast, was now tingling in my bloodstream. Power surged into my fingertips. My only problem was channeling the magic, making sure it didn't burn me to a crisp.

I called on Isis as best I could, tapping her power to help me shape the enchantment. I envisioned what I wanted, and the right word of power popped into my head: _Protect. N'dah. _I released the magic and a gold hieroglyph burned in front of me. A wave of golden light rippled through the concourse. The troop of baboons hesitated. Babi stumbled on the Body Shop roof. Even Nekhbet squawked and faltered on the ceiling girders. All around the station, inanimate objects began to move. Backpacks and briefcases suddenly learned to fly. Magazine racks, gum, sweets, and assorted cold drinks exploded out of the shops and attacked the baboon troop. The decapitated bronze head from the statue shot out of nowhere and slammed into Babi's chest, knocking him backward through the roof of the Body Shop. A tornado of pink _Financial Times _newspapers swirled toward the ceiling. They engulfed Nekhbet, who stumbled blindly and fell shrieking from her perch in a flurry of pink and black.

"Go!" I told my friends. We ran for the exit, weaving around baboons who were much too busy to stop us. One was being pummeled by a half-dozen bottles of sparkling water. Another was fending off a briefcase and several kamikaze BlackBerrys. Babi tried to rise, but a maelstrom of Body Shop products surged around him—lotions, loofa sponges, and shampoos all battering him, squirting in his eyes, and trying to give him an extreme makeover. He bellowed in irritation, slipped, and fell back into the ruined shop. I doubted my spell would do the gods any permanent damage, but with luck it would keep them occupied for a few minutes. Luke, Ethan, and I made it out of the terminal. With the entire station evacuated, I didn't really expect any cabs to be in the taxi queue, and indeed the curb was empty. I resigned myself to running all the way to Waterloo Bridge, though Ethan had no shoes, and the potion had made me queasy.

"Look!" Luke said.

"Oh, well done, Spencer," Ethan said.

"What?" I asked. "What did I do?"

Then I noticed the chauffeur—an extremely short, scruffy man standing at the end of the drive in a black suit, holding a placard that read KANE. I suppose my friends thought I'd summoned him by magic. Before I could tell them differently, Ethan said, "Come on!" and they sprinted toward the little man. I had no choice but to follow. I remembered what Anubis had said about sending my "driver" to meet me. I supposed this must be him, but the closer we got, the less eager I was to meet him. He was shorter than me by half, stouter than my Uncle Amos, and uglier than anyone else on the planet. His facial features were positively Neanderthal. Under his thick furry mono-brow, one eye was bigger than the other. His beard looked as if it had been used to scrape greasy pots. His skin was poxy with red welts, and his hair looked like a bird's nest that had been set on fire then stomped out. When he saw me, he scowled, which did nothing to help his appearance.

"About time!" His accent was American. He belched into his fist, and the smell of curry nearly knocked me over. "Bast's friend? Spencer Kane?"

"Um…possibly." I decided to have a serious talk with Bast about her choice of friends. "Just by the way, we have two gods trying to kill us."

The warty little man smacked his lips, clearly unimpressed. "Guess you'll want a bridge, then." He turned toward the curb and yelled, "BOO!" A black Mercedes limousine appeared out of nowhere, as if it had been scared into existence. The chauffeur glanced back at me and arched his brow. "Well? Get in!"

I'd never been in a limousine before. I hope most are nicer than the one we took. The backseat was littered with takeaway curry containers, old fish-and-chip paper, crisps bags, and various dirty socks. Despite this, Ethan, Luke, and I crammed together in the back, because none of us dared ride up front. You may think I was mad to get in a car with a strange man. You're right, of course. But Bast had promised us help, and Anubis had told me to expect a driver. The fact that our promised help was a little man with bad hygiene and a magical limousine did not particularly surprise me. I'd seen stranger things. Also, I didn't have much choice. The potion had worn off, and the strain of releasing so much magic had made me lightheaded and wobbly-legged. I wasn't sure I could've walked to Waterloo Bridge without passing out.

The chauffeur floored the gas and barreled out of the station. The police had cordoned it off, but our limo swerved around the barricades, past a cluster of BBC news vans and a mob of spectators, and no one paid us any attention. The chauffeur started whistling a tune that sounded like "Short People." His head barely reached the headrest. All I could see of him was a grubby nest of hair and a set of furry hands on the wheel. Stuck in the sun visor was an identification card with his picture—sort of. It had been taken at point-blank range, showing only an out-of-focus nose and a hideous mouth, as if he'd been trying to eat the camera. The card read: _Your Driver is BES._

"You're Bes, I guess?" I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Your car's a mess," Luke muttered.

"If one more person rhymes," Ethan grumbled, "I'll throw up."

"Is it Mr. Bes?" I asked, trying to place his name from Egyptian mythology. I was fairly sure they hadn't had a god of chauffeurs. "Lord Bes? Bes the Extremely Short?"

"Just Bes," he grunted. "One _s. _And no, it's NOT a girl's name. Call me Bessie, and I'll have to kill you. As for being short, I'm the dwarf god, so what do you expect? Oh, there's bottled water for you back there if you're thirsty."

I looked down. Rolling about at my feet were two partially empty bottles of water. One had lipstick on the cap. The other looked as if it had been chewed on.

"Not thirsty," I decided.

Luke and Ethan murmured agreement. I was surprised they weren't absolutely catatonic after the evening's events, but then again, they were _my _mates. I didn't hang out with weak-willed girls, did I? Even before I discovered magic, it took a strong constitution and a fair amount of adaptability to be my friend. [And no comment from you, Carter.] Police vehicles were blocking Waterloo Bridge, but Bes swerved around them, jumped the pavement, and kept driving. The police didn't even blink.

"Are we invisible?" I asked.

"To most mortals." Bes belched. "They're pretty dense, aren't they? Present company excepted, et cetera."

"You're really a god?" Luke asked.

"Huge," Bes said. "I'm _huge _in the world of gods."

"A huge god of dwarves," Ethan marveled. "You mean as in Snow White, or—"

"All dwarves." Bes waved his hands expansively, which made me a bit nervous as he took both of them off the wheel. "Egyptians were smart. They honored people who were born unusual. Dwarves were considered extremely magical. So yeah, I'm the god of dwarves."

Luke cleared her throat. "Isn't there a more polite term we're supposed to use nowadays? Like…little person, or vertically challenged, or—"

"I'm not going to call myself the god of vertically challenged people," Bes grumbled. "I'm a dwarf! Now, here we are, just in time."

He spun the car to a stop in the middle of the bridge. Looking behind us, I almost lost the contents of my stomach. A winged black shape was circling over the riverbank. At the end of the bridge, Babi was taking care of the barricade in his own fashion. He was throwing police cars into the River Thames while the officers scattered and fired their weapons, though the bullets seemed to have no effect on the baboon god's steely fur.

"Why are we stopping?" Ethan asked.

Bes stood on his seat and stretched, which he could do quite easily. "It's a river," he said. "Good place to fight gods, if I do say so myself. All that force of nature flowing underneath our feet makes it hard to stay anchored in the mortal world."

Looking at him more closely, I could see what he meant. His face was shimmering like a mirage. A lump formed in my throat. This was the moment of truth. I felt sick from the potion and from fear. I wasn't at all sure I had enough magic to combat those two gods. But I had no choice.

"Luke, Ethan," I said. "We're getting out."

"Getting…out?" Luke whimpered.

Ethan swallowed. "Are you sure—"

"I know you're scared," I said, "but you'll need to do exactly as I say."

They nodded hesitantly and opened the car doors. The poor things. Again I wished I'd left them behind; but honestly, after seeing my grandparents possessed, I couldn't stand the idea of letting my friends out of my sight.

Bes stifled a yawn. "Need my help?"

"Um…"

Babi was lumbering toward us. Nekhbet circled over him, shrieking orders. If the river was affecting them at all, they didn't show it.

I didn't see how a dwarf god could stand against those two, but I said, "Yes. I need help."

"Right." Bes cracked his knuckles. "So get out."

"What?"

"I can't change clothes with you in the car, can I? I have to put on my ugly outfit."

"Ugly outfit?"

"Go!" the dwarf commanded. "I'll be out in a minute."

It didn't take much encouragement. None of us wanted to see any more of Bes than we had to. We got out, and Bes locked the doors behind us. The windows were heavily tinted, so I couldn't see in. For all I knew Bes would be relaxing, listening to music while we got slaughtered. I certainly didn't have much hope that a wardrobe change was going to defeat Nekhbet and Babi. I looked at my frightened mates, then at the two gods charging toward us.

"We'll make our last stand here."

"Oh, no, no," Luke said. "I really don't like the term 'last stand.'"

I rummaged through my bag and took out a piece of chalk and the four sons of Horus. "Luke, put these statues at the cardinal points—North, South, and so on. Ethan, take the chalk. Draw a circle connecting the statues. We only have a few seconds." I traded him the chalk for my staff, then had a horrible flash of déjà vu. I'd just ordered my friends into action exactly as Zia Rashid had bossed me the first time we'd faced an enemy god together.

I didn't want to be like Zia. On the other hand, I realized for the first time just how much courage she must've had to stand up to a goddess while protecting two complete novices. I hate to say it, but it gave me a newfound respect for her. I wished I had her bravery. I raised my staff and wand and tried to focus. Time seemed to slow down. I reached out with my senses until I was aware of everything around me—Ethan scrawling with chalk to finish the circle, Luke's heart beating too fast, Babi's massive feet pounding on the bridge as he ran toward us, the Thames flowing under the bridge, and the currents of the Duat flowing around me just as powerfully. Bast once told me the Duat was like an ocean of magic under the surface of the mortal world. If that was true, then this place—a bridge over moving water—was like a jet stream. Magic flowed more strongly here. It could drown the unwary. Even gods might be swept away.

I tried to anchor myself by concentrating on the landscape around me. London was _my _city. From here I could see everything—the Houses of Parliament, the London Eye, even Cleopatra's Needle on the Victoria Embankment, where my mother had died. If I failed now, so close to where my mother had worked her last magic—No. I couldn't let it come to that. Babi was only a meter away when Ethan finished the circle. I touched my staff to the chalk, and golden light flared up. The baboon god slammed into my protective force field like it was a metal wall. He staggered backward. Nekhbet swerved away at the last second and flew around us, cawing in frustration. Unfortunately, the circle's light began to flicker. My mum had taught me at a very young age: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. That applied to magic as well as science. The force of Babi's assault left me seeing black spots. If he attacked again, I wasn't sure I could hold the circle. I wondered if I should step outside it, make myself the target. If I channeled energy into the circle first, it might maintain itself for a while, even if I died. At least, my friends would live. Zia Rashid had probably been thinking the same thing last Christmas when she stepped outside her circle to protect Carter and me. She really had been annoyingly brave.

"Whatever happens to me," I told my friends, "stay inside the circle."

"Spencer," Ethan said, "I know that tone of voice. Whatever you're planning, don't."

"You can't leave us," Luke pleaded. Then he shouted at Babi in a squeaky voice: "G-go away, you horrible foamy ape! My friend here doesn't want to destroy you, but—but he will!"

Babi snarled. He _was _rather foamy, thanks to the Body Shop attack, and he smelled wonderful. Several different colors of shampoo foam and bath beads were matted in his silver fur. Nekhbet hadn't fared so well. She perched atop a nearby lamppost, looking as if she'd been assaulted by the entire contents of the West Cornwall Pasty Company. Bits of ham, cheese, and potato splattered her feathery cloak, giving testament to the brave enchanted meatpies that had given their brief lives to delay her. Her hair was decorated with plastic forks, napkins, and bits of pink newsprint. She looked quite keen to tear me to shreds. The only good news: Babi's minions evidently hadn't made it out of the train station. I imagined a troop of pasty-splattered baboons shoved against police cars and handcuffed. It lifted my spirits somewhat.

Nekhbet snarled. "You surprised us at the station, Spencer Kane. I'll admit that was well done. And bringing us to this bridge—a good try. But we are not so weak. You don't have the strength to fight us any longer. If you cannot defeat us, you have no business raising Ra."

"You lot should be helping me," I said. "Not trying to stop me."

"_Uhh!" _Babi barked.

"Indeed," agreed the vulture goddess. "The strong survive without help. The weak must be killed and eaten. Which are you, child? Be honest."

The truth? I was about to drop. The bridge seemed to be spinning beneath me. Sirens wailed on both banks of the river. More police had arrived at the barricades, but for now they made no effort to advance. Babi bared his fangs. He was so close, I could smell his shampooed fur and his horrid breath. Then I looked at Gramps's glasses still stuck on his head, and all my anger came back.

"Try me," I said. "I follow the path of Isis. Cross me, and I'll destroy you."

I managed to light my staff. Babi stepped back. Nekhbet fluttered on her lamppost. Their forms shimmered briefly. The river _was _weakening them, loosening their connection to the mortal world like interference on a mobile phone line. But it wasn't enough.

Nekhbet must've seen the desperation in my face. She was a vulture. She specialized in knowing

when her prey was finished.

"A good last effort, child," she said, almost with appreciation, "but you have nothing left. Babi, attack!"

The baboon god reared up on his back legs. I got ready to charge and deliver one final burst of energy—to tap into my own life source and hopefully vaporize the gods. I had to make sure Luke and Ethan survived.

Then the limo's door opened behind me. Bes announced: "No one is attacking anyone! Except me, of course."

Nekhbet shrieked in alarm. I turned to see what was going on. Immediately, I wished I could burn my eyes out of my head.

Luke made a gagging sound. "Lord, no! That's _wrong_!"

"_Agh!" _Ethan shouted, in perfect baboon-speak. "Make him stop!"

Bes had indeed put on his ugly outfit. He climbed onto the roof of the limo and stood there, legs planted, arms akimbo, like Superman—except with only the underwear. For those faint of heart, I won't go into great detail, but Bes, all of a meter tall, was showing off his disgusting physique —his potbelly, hairy limbs, awful feet, gross flabby bits—and wearing only a blue Speedo. Imagine the worst looking person you've ever seen on a public beach—the person for whom swimwear should be illegal. Bes looked worse than that.

I wasn't sure what to say except: "Put on some clothes!"

Bes laughed—the sort of guffaw that says _Ha-ha! I'm amazing!_

"Not until they leave," he said. "Or I'll be forced to scare them back to the Duat."

"This is not your affair, dwarf god!" Nekhbet snarled, averting her eyes from his horribleness. "Go away!"

"These children are under my protection," Bes insisted.

"I don't know you," I said. "I never met you before today."

"Nonsense. You expressly asked for my protection."

"I didn't ask for the Speedo Patrol!"

Bes leaped off the limo and landed in front of my circle, placing himself between Babi and me. The dwarf was even more horrible from behind. His back was so hairy it looked like a mink coat. And on the back of his Speedo was printed dwarf pride. Bes and Babi circled each other like wrestlers. The baboon god swiped at Bes, but the dwarf was agile. He scrambled up Babi's chest and head-butted him in the nose. Babi staggered backward as the dwarf continued pounding away, using his face as a deadly weapon.

"Don't hurt him!" I yelled. "It's my Gramps in there!"

Babi slumped against the railing. He blinked, trying to regain his bearings, but Bes breathed on him, and the smell of curry must've been too much. The baboon's knees buckled. His body shimmered and began to shrink. He crumpled on the pavement and melted into a stocky gray-haired pensioner in a tattered cardigan.

"Gramps!" I couldn't stand it. I left the protective circle and ran to his side.

"He'll be fine," Bes promised. Then he turned toward the vulture goddess. "Now it's your turn, Nekhbet. _Leave._"

"I stole this body fair and square!" she wailed. "I like it in here!"

"You asked for it." Bes rubbed his hands, took a deep breath, and did something I will never be able to erase from my memory.

If I simply said he made a face and yelled BOO, that would be technically correct, but it wouldn't begin to convey the horror. His head swelled. His jaw unhinged until his mouth was four times too big. His eyes bulged like grapefruits. His hair stuck straight up like Bast's. He shook his face and waggled his slimy green tongue and roared BOOOO! so loudly, the sound rolled across the Thames like a cannon shot. This blast of pure ugly blew the feathers off Nekhbet's cloak and drained all the color from her face. It ripped away the essence of the goddess like tissue paper in a storm. The only thing left was a dazed old woman in a flower-print dress, squatting on the lamppost.

"Oh, dear…" Gran fainted.

Bes jumped up and caught her before she could topple into the river. The dwarf's face went back to normal—well, normally _ugly, _at least—as he eased Gran onto the pavement next to Gramps.

"Thank you," I told Bes. "Now, will you please put on some clothes?"

He gave me a toothy grin, which I could have lived without. "You're all right, Spencer Kane. I see why Bast likes you."

"Spencer?" my grandfather groaned, his eyelids fluttering open.

"I'm here, Gramps." I stroked his forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Strange craving for mangoes." He went cross-eyed. "And possibly insects. You…you saved us?"

"Not really," I admitted. "My friend here—"

"Certainly she saved you," Bes said. "Brave girl you have here. Quite a magician."

Gramps focused on Bes and scowled. "Bloody Egyptian gods in their bloody revealing swimwear. This is why we don't _do _magic."

I sighed with relief. Once Gramps started complaining, I knew he was going to be all right. Gran was still passed out, but her breathing seemed steady. The color was coming back into her cheeks.

"We should go," Bes said. "The mortals are ready to storm the bridge."

I glanced toward the barricades and saw what he meant. An assault team was gathering—heavily armored men with rifles, grenade launchers, and probably many other fun toys that could kill us.

"Luke, Ethan!" I called. "Help me with my grandparents."

My friends ran over and started to help Gramps sit up, but Bes said, "They can't come."

"What?" I demanded. "But you just said—"

"They're mortals," Bes said. "They don't belong on your quest. If we're going to get the second scroll from Vlad Menshikov, we need to leave _now._"

"You know about that?" Then I remembered that he'd spoken with Anubis.

"Your grandparents and friends are in less danger here," Bes said. "The police will question them, but they won't see old people and children as a threat."

"We're not children," Ethan grumbled.

"Vultures…" Gran whispered in her sleep. "Meatpies…"

Gramps coughed. "The dwarf is right, Spencer._Go. _I'll be tiptop in a moment, though it's a pity that baboon chap couldn't leave me some of his power. Haven't felt that strong in ages."

I looked at my bedraggled grandparents and friends. My heart felt it was being stretched in more directions than Bes's face. I realized the dwarf was right: they'd be safer here facing an assault team than going with us. And I realized, too, that they didn't belong on a magic quest. My grandparents had chosen long ago not to use their ancestral abilities. And my friends were just mortals—brave, mad, ridiculous, wonderful mortals. But they couldn't go where I had to go.

"Spencer, it's fine." Ethan adjusted her broken glasses and tried for a smile. "We can handle the police. Won't be the first time we've had to do some quick talking, eh?"

"We'll take care of your gran and gramps," Luke promised.

"Don't need taking care of," Gramps complained. Then he broke down in a fit of coughing. "Just go, my dear. That baboon god was in my head. I can tell you—he means to destroy you. Finish your quest before he comes after you again. I couldn't even stop him. I couldn't…" He looked resentfully at his shaky old hands. "I never would've forgiven myself. Now, off with you!"

"I'm sorry," I told them all. "I didn't mean—"

"Sorry?" Ethan demanded. "Spencer Kane, that was the most _brilliant _birthday party ever! Now, go!"

He and Luke both hugged me, and before I could start crying, Bes shepherded me into the Mercedes. We drove north toward the Victoria Embankment. We were almost to the barricades when Bes slowed down.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Can't we go past invisibly?"

"It's not the mortals I'm worried about." He pointed.

All the police, reporters, and spectators around the barricades had fallen asleep. Several military-types in body armor were curled on the pavement, cuddling their assault rifles like teddy bears. Standing in front of the barricades, blocking our car, were Carter and Walt. They were disheveled and breathing heavily, as if they'd run here all the way from Brooklyn. They both had wands at the ready. Carter stepped forward, pointing his sword at the windshield.

"Let him go!" he yelled at Bes. "Or I'll destroy you!"

Bes glanced back at me. "Should I frighten him?"

"No!" I said. That was something I _didn't _need to see again. "I'll handle it."

I stepped out of the limo. "Hello, boys. Brilliant timing."

Walt and Carter frowned. "You're not in danger?" Walt asked me.

"Not anymore."

Carter lowered his sword reluctantly. "You mean the ugly guy—"

"Is a friend," I said. "Bast's friend. He's also our driver."

Carter looked equal parts confused, annoyed, and uneasy, which made a satisfying ending to my birthday party. "Driver to where?" he asked.

"Russia, of course," I said. "Hop in."


	6. Chapter 6, Ciao Elemental Remix!

**Author's Note:**

*Coughs* So, I wanted to say I am not really in the mood for writing much more KC fics, I… was heavily annoyed by all the flames and shall put this series on permanent shut down, Thank you for reading what I have wrote, but I am going into the _Hetalia_ fandom, so Ciao!


End file.
